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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29885223">Resilience</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kmd0107/pseuds/kmd0107'>kmd0107</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsKissyT/pseuds/MrsKissyT'>MrsKissyT</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual mature sexual content, F/M, Family Magic, HBP Canon Divergence, Hogwarts Era, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Horcrux Hunting, Horcruxes, Hurt/Comfort, Illicit potions brewing, Inspired by Art, Interlude POV, Jealousy, Legilimency (Harry Potter), Occlumency (Harry Potter), POV Draco Malfoy, POV Hermione Granger, Possessive Draco Malfoy, Questioning Dumbledore, Room of Requirement, Slap Bracelets, Study Group, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Vanishing Cabinets (Harry Potter), Wards (Harry Potter), and other Protean Charms, bonding magic, goes full AU for DH, magical research</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 16:41:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>25,853</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29885223</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kmd0107/pseuds/kmd0107, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsKissyT/pseuds/MrsKissyT</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He was the son of two ancient pure-blood lineages. A life of privilege practically written in the stars.<br/>It was supposed to be easy<br/>Now, with his father locked away, Lord Voldemort threatens all that Draco holds dear. Struggling with the manifestation of unexpected family magic and his morality, his impossible task is set.<br/>Until a chance encounter in a haunted bathroom with Hermione Granger sets his life in an entirely new direction.</p><p> <b>or</b></p><p>Draco’s family magic chooses Hermione Granger as The One.</p><p><b>UPDATES</b> on 1st and 3rd Sunday of the month</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hermione Granger &amp; Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>108</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>193</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Next Dramione to Read</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue & Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>there will be moments when<br/>
you will bloom fully and then<br/>
wilt, only to bloom again.<br/>
if we can learn anything from<br/>
flowers it is that resilience is born<br/>
even when we feel like we are<br/>
dying.</em>
</p><p><em>- rebirth</em> by Alexandra Elle</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>Prologue</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Hermione - October 1997</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>Hermione stood in the forest, wand drawn in fear, as the rain beat down, soaking her to the bone. The only thing keeping her from passing out from the cold was the adrenaline pumping through her. Harry stood at her side, with Ron facing them, his wand white-knuckle gripped, and in a stance like he was ready to start throwing hexes.</p><p>It had come to this. The anxiety and tension that had become omnipresent since they'd acquired the locket had tipped over the edge.</p><p>Hermione wasn't sure how the state of their friendship had gotten so bad. Or rather, things had been so bad already, she didn't see how they could possibly have gotten worse. That was her mistake. One of many, as it turned out.</p><p>Ron had been on his watch shift since lunch, while she and Harry continued to scour her books for anything that might give them a better sense of what to do next. The days and nights had begun to bleed together since they'd escaped the Ministry with the locket; Hermione was just so tired. She'd conjured up a small, green settee for their tent—Ron had returned from his watch to find her curled into Harry, one of his arms secured around her waist to hold her in place while they'd slept. It had been completely innocent; they were practically siblings, after all. Unfortunately, their friend had not seen it that way, despite how hard Harry tried to convince him.</p><p>The space between the two of them and Ron felt as though a chasm, dark and deep, had ripped the ground open to separate them. Ron was convinced that she had chosen Harry over him, as her friend, her partner! His unresolved feelings for her had risen to the surface again, drawn by the blasted Horcrux.</p><p>While Hermione loved Ron, it had never been in that way. The inkling of romantic emotions that might have been, had been thoroughly squashed by circumstance. She thought she'd made that quite apparent last year, considering what had happened. It was absurd, but the way Ron's face contorted in anger as he glared at them made it clear he thought otherwise. He looked feral and frightening in a way she'd never seen before. It terrified her.</p><p>"Ron, please!" she cried, wiping her rain-soaked hair away from her eyes. They needed to move again; they'd already been in this spot for too long. They didn't have time for this.</p><p>"No, 'Mione, Harry's been perfectly clear," Ron seethed, pointing his wand at Harry.</p><p>With his free hand, Harry slapped Ron's wand away and he began to pace, muttering under his breath. Hermione reached out to stop him, but Harry side-stepped around her. Releasing her breath, she turned back to Ron. He looked quite tragic standing there with water droplets hanging off his fringe.</p><p>"See, you don't need me. I'm just in the way."</p><p>It was true that since Ron had been splinched escaping the Ministry, she and Harry had spent most of their energy healing and caring for Ron. He was in no position to do much of anything helpful at that moment. But they were all in the same boat on that account. They didn't know where to go or what to do next. It <em>didn't</em> mean she wanted him to leave. Dumbledore had meant for them to do this <em>together</em>. She'd thought it mad, attempting to hunt Horcruxes on their own. With what they were facing now, her contempt for him over this impossible scheme grew by the second.</p><p>"Take it off!" Hermione begged, reaching out for the gold chain that peeked out of the edge of Ron's shirt. She knew this was that wretched Horcrux. They'd all been experiencing its effects since they'd obtained it. They'd worn it in shifts, none exceeding their set time limit until today.</p><p>Ron stepped away from her. "It doesn't make me feel anything that I wasn't already thinking. Just gives me clarity," he snarled. She shook her head, unable to hold back her tears any longer. They were stronger together; Harry needed them both.</p><p>Wet leaves squelched under Harry's pacing stride, each breath an angry exhalation, which abruptly stopped. "Then go!"</p><p>Hermione gasped, mouth falling open in shock. This couldn't be happening!</p><p>She grabbed Harry's wrist and yanked, hard. The ground splashed as he stumbled into her. "Harry, <em>don't,</em>" she warned. Ron was already so consumed by the Horcrux, she knew he'd take anything they said literally.</p><p>Not bothering to unclasp the chain, Ron yanked the locket over his head, leaving a small abrasion on his cheek. He threw it to the ground and glowered at Hermione when her hand stretched out toward him again. Thunder rumbled in the background, and the wind began to pick up with a vengeance. Ron turned away from her.</p><p>Regaining her bearings, Hermione scrambled to pick up the locket. It was covered in mud and almost slipped through her fingers in her haste. The familiar feeling of despair and icy fingers grasping for something to destroy grew as she lifted it over her head. Hermione had a fleeting rumination on Death Eaters. Did the constant pulsing of their irrevocable connection to Voldemort deplete them of their own sense of self? Did it slowly drain them of who they really were? Who they were meant to be? Her last thoughts as she made contact with the Horcrux were wishing and hoping that Ron could break free from its hold now that it sang in her head. She loathed its malevolent voice.</p><p><em><strong>You don't need them, Golden Girl. You're better than all of them</strong></em>.</p><p>Hermione reached for the rational part of herself. It lies, <em>he</em> lies. She'd seen how it tried to manipulate everyone it touched.</p><p>
  <em> <strong>But I tell the truth too, Golden Girl.</strong> </em>
</p><p>Harry and Ron's yells echoed faintly through her Horcrux-addled mind. Then the crack of an apparition and her entire world collapsed onto itself. She yearned for the protective warmth of magic she'd become so accustomed to. Now everything was cold, dead. She was alone. Again.</p><p><em> <strong>You don't need them, Golden Girl</strong> </em> <em>.</em></p><p>She wanted to curl into a tiny ball and cry. Everyone left. The weight of her grief and insecurity staggered her. The human-sized hole in her heart expanded, trying to consume her. She wasn't sure if she could take it anymore. Wouldn't it be better to give in. Everyone was gone anyway.</p><p><em> <strong>I'll never leave you, Golden Girl. My Golden Girl</strong> </em> <em>.</em></p><p>The pain was sharp and almost sweet. She wanted to scream. <em>I'm not your Golden Girl!</em></p><p>
  <strong>You'll always be my Golden Girl.</strong>
</p><p>It was wrong, all wrong. This wasn't the voice she was so desperate to hear. She forced her brain to run through every herb she knew of alphabetically by taxonomy, an attempt to push the abomination down. All at once, the treacherous voice faded, and she could take a full breath again. The rain had finally stopped.</p><p>She saw Harry reach for her hand, taking it into his own. He looked exhausted, so full of pain and regret. She knew what came next.</p><p>"I'm so sorry, Hermione. Ron's gone."</p><p>She nodded. She'd hoped they were all stronger than the mangled shred of Tom Riddle's warped soul. She'd been wrong, and her error—or perhaps arrogance—had cost them.</p><p><em> <strong>You're strong enough. I'll make you stronger</strong> </em> <em>. </em> <em> <strong>We could be the perfect team.</strong> </em></p><p>Hermione took a deep breath and pressed the voice of Tom Riddle into the rotting, wooden barrel she had created for him. Safe in the arboretum she'd constructed in the vault of her mind.</p><p>Feeling secure in her ability to keep his spirit locked away, for the time being at least, she sighed heavily, then pulled out her wand and began breaking down their campsite. It was time to move on.</p><p>They moved around each other in silence, erasing all traces of their presence from the forest. In Hermione's peripheral vision, she noticed Harry wiping his eyes with his sleeves roughly, the guilt and self-loathing radiating off of him in waves. So much had happened between the three of them over the last year. She knew he felt responsible for Ron leaving, but he shouldn't.</p><p>No, there was only one person to blame.</p><p>Shrinking the tent down and levitating it into her bag, Hermione stepped into Harry's line of sight, stopping him with her hand on his shoulder.</p><p>"This isn't your fault, Harry. This is Voldemort's fault," she stated. He needed to believe that.</p><p>A cool sensation flooded Hermione's senses just as the protective wards around their camp popped. Her concentration slipped, the barrel containing the fractured soul began to rumble viciously.</p><p>"Quickly, Harry! <em>Protego totalum! Muffiatio!</em>" Her wand strokes were swift and precise, focusing on the area directly surrounding them.</p><p>Back to back, she could hear Harry recasting the protections as rapidly as possible. Hermione couldn't be sure what had just happened, but it was bad. Very bad. There wasn't enough time to run.</p><p>She and Harry continued to cast, but a much flimsier shield than they would typically have in place descended around their camp. She knew they couldn't be seen or heard, but the cool sensation itching along her skin brought to mind some type of tracking spell. She cast a quick diagnostic charm, and the wisp of red smoke confirmed her suspicion.</p><p>"What was that?" Harry asked in an unnecessary whisper.</p><p>"Tracker," she said and cast the same diagnostic charm on Harry, resulting in another wisp of red. It appeared to have been altered to catch everyone within proximity. "Shit! On both of us."</p><p>"His name?"</p><p>She nodded. "Must be."</p><p>The air filled with the cracking of apparition. The cloud cover made it too dark to see past the trees in front of them but there must have been at least five Snatchers approaching them from the woods. Hermione squinted her eyes and looked for movement. As her eyes scanned the tree line she felt the wind stir around them, little eddies of leaves crackling through the air. It started small and built, the wind rushing around them, bringing forth the scent of decaying earth and ozone from the recent rain. It was then that she saw it, a trailing line of black smoke disappearing into the tree line followed by a deafening whorl of wind that was infinitely more terrifying than the whip crack of normal apparition. A Death Eater was with the Snatchers.</p><p>"What do we do now?" Harry asked as another figure appeared in a silent burst of black that dissipated to reveal a large figure.</p><p>Hermione's whole body went rigid, and terror filled her. Greyback.</p><p>She began to move, but the wet ground splattered onto the scattered leaves around them. Harry grabbed her wrist and shook his head once. Small flashes of light began hitting the dome of magic that surrounded them. Whoever else was out there was attempting to break their wards. Not knowing how powerful or which spell was being used, they couldn't move without risking being heard. They were completely trapped.</p><p>A scant few meters away, the werewolf cocked his head and tilted it back, inhaling deeply. Harry turned to her; eyes wide with the same fear that froze her in place. They couldn't hear what was being said, but it was clear that Greyback could sense them, smell them if Hermione had to guess. He'd be able to pinpoint precisely where they stood.</p><p>A few more cracks of apparition could be heard deeper in the woods, but Hermione's attention was drawn to the figure emerging from the shadows. Where Greyback was large and hulking, this person was tall, lithe, and almost graceful, clad in the dark robes and silver mask of a Death Eater. He joined Greyback at the edge of their hasty protections, turned toward them, and the air shivered with familiar magic. She frowned at the recognition. He turned to Greyback and shook his head.</p><p>Hermione took in the appearance of the Death Eater. She reached for the residual magic floating through the air, let it swirl around her. The stirring sensation felt so familiar, but the context was wrong. It couldn't be—</p><p>"What do you think?"</p><p>Her racing heart stuttered, and Hermione tried to swallow back the bitter taste of adrenaline. "I don't know, Harry, but if we try to apparate, I think they'll be able to follow us." She considered the group of Snatchers who had appeared at the edge of their camp. Most were a little older than she and Harry, but all looked fit and mean. "I don't think outrunning them is an option either. We're sitting ducks while their Death Eater figures out how to break our wards," she said; her throat tightened and stung with the threat of tears.</p><p>Harry wrapped his arms around her. "This isn't the end. We'll figure something out. Fuck if I know what, but this is <em>not</em> how this story ends."</p><p>She tightened her grip on him, burying her face in his shoulder for a moment, then pulled back with a deep breath. It was too much to hope. She focused on the situation instead of the taste of <em>his</em> magic floating through the air as another spell was cast.</p><p>"Okay. We're going to be captured. I don't think we can avoid it. We need to be harder to identify." She held her wand aloft and moved her hand in the delicate patterns needed for a glamorie. Before her eyes, Harry's appearance shifted, eyes darkening, hair lightening, and growing longer. "I can't hide the scar, but we can obscure it with your hair."</p><p>"Hermione, what about you? I can't do a glamorie like that."</p><p>She pointed her wand at her hair and concentrated as best she could. She'd never gotten very adept at hair charms, but even a little less bushy would help. <em>Less 'expansive.'</em></p><p>"Well?" she asked.</p><p>Harry shook his head. "If any of them know you…"</p><p>"We'll just have to hope they don't." <em>Or that only one of them does.</em></p><p>The magic around them swelled, and Hermione knew what was coming. She could hear Tom screaming in his prison deep within her mind, but she kept him locked away. They only had one chance to get this right.</p><p>"Get ready, Harry," she whispered.</p><p>The wards popped, and everything went dark. Within seconds, strong arms wrapped around Hermione, tearing her away from Harry. She kicked and screamed, trying to jam her elbows into her captor's ribs or her heel into his instep. But he was too much bigger, too much stronger. She still couldn't see anything, but the raucous laughter of the Snatchers began to diminish.</p><p>That same familiar stirring sensation began to swirl around her, giving her strength to keep fighting, to not give in.</p><p>Her captor's grip tightened painfully, and warm breath tickled her ear. "Granger, stop! It's <em>me</em>."</p><p>A shiver of recognition ran down her spine at the sound of this voice.</p><p>"Malfoy?"</p><p>"Hermione." His voice was a caress. Her magical signature shifted for the first time in months. Warmth, and love, and strength enveloped her as she felt him inhale deeply.</p><p>Her magic rose up and merged with his, filling all the cracks and fissures that his absence had created. Confusion, shock and an immense amount of relief coursed through her veins. She breathed in his familiar scent and relaxed into his embrace. This was real. <em>He</em> was real. He'd found her.</p><p>"Draco."</p>
<hr/><hr/><p>
  <strong>Chapter 1 Under Pressure</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Draco - October 1996</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>One year earlier…</p><p>Sixth year was meant to be easy.</p><p>Draco had been at the top of the class or <em>would</em> have been if a certain maddening swot wasn't in the picture. He'd been made a prefect for Slytherin and even a high-ranking member of the Inquisitorial Squad by that toad of a woman last year.</p><p>And it was all ruined by those god damned Gryffindors. Led, of course, by the Golden Boy himself, Harry <em>fucking</em> Potter.</p><p>Then, over the summer, his father was sent to Azkaban. The Dark Lord had taken the opportunity to commandeer Malfoy Manor, where he now reigned over the Death Eaters from Draco's living room. As punishment for his father's mistakes, Draco's mother was being held captive in her own rooms as a bargaining chip, making sure Draco did his new master's bidding.</p><p>Now, instead of basking in the heady sensation of power, he was spending all his free time in front of a bloody broken cabinet! The Dark Mark itched under his pressed sleeve at the thought of it all.</p><p>As if that wasn't enough of a burden, the day he'd turned sixteen, Draco had been informed that his mother, per his father's instructions, was to start looking into a marriage contract. As if he was ready to select a <em>wife</em>!</p><p>The insane idea of an arranged marriage was never one he'd been on board with. The summer before, he'd spent an entire afternoon in his father's study presenting him with all the reasons why he should delay the family trying to negotiate a marriage contract for him. His father had reluctantly agreed that the courtship rituals could become a distraction to his studies. Ultimately, Lucius had decided to delay any betrothal until Draco had left school. But, apparently, that was then.</p><p>Now, Draco couldn't imagine what had changed, other than his father's ability to grasp reality. As if any sane witch would ever take to his courting them now!</p><p>'<em>Do wear the emerald shirt, darling husband; it hides that wretched tattoo </em>so<em> much better.' Bloody demented! All of it!</em></p><p>It was <em>meant </em>to be easy.</p><p>His lamenting was interrupted by the loud bang that emanated from the front row, snapping him back into the Dungeon. Potions was one of the few classes he'd at least attempted to remain coherent in, for the most part. Theodore Nott snickered next to him.</p><p>"Ah, Ms. Granger." Professor Slughorn peered down into the cauldron and gave it a tut. "It would appear you have added the sloth brain a touch too soon. We're brewing Draught of Living Death, after all, not a memory potion. I seem to recall you making a similar mistake last time. Perhaps you can ask Mr. Potter for some pointers on the proper way to measure time while stirring."</p><p>The horrified look on Granger's face was priceless. The inelegant scoff she let out as the old geezer moved to the next table was icing on the cake. Had he not felt so weighed down by all the pressure he was under, the entire ordeal would have made his morning.</p><p>Instead, he just rolled his eyes as Theo nudged him and leaned in. "Looks like Granger's about to go off on one," he murmured. "I'd pay one hundred galleons to see her load off on Old Sluggy."</p><p>"Poor codger wouldn't know what hit him," he mumbled, refocusing back on his own cauldron in front of him. Subtly raising a hand to touch his nose, he could still remember the feel of the sting from her right hook. He'd never admit it to anyone, but despite the pain, he'd been mildly impressed.</p><p>Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Granger whisper shouting at a very nervous looking Potter, her finger pointing emphatically at his potions book.</p><p>It was rather odd that someone like Potter could outsmart, well, anyone in their year. He wasn't known to be an exceptional student. Draco had always assumed it was his last name that got Potter his average marks and leniency when it came to his schooling.</p><p>
  <em>But he's never been better than me in school. Father would never let me hear the end of it.</em>
</p><p>Thinking of the elder Malfoy got his blood boiling. His family wouldn't be in this mess with The Dark Lord if his father wasn't imprisoned in that wretched place. And If it wasn't for that bloody half-wit (who was currently shielding himself with his arm from Granger's smacking with her rolled parchment), his father would have never been caught!</p><p>Satisfied with his potion, he grabbed one of the vials between his cauldron and Theo's and filled it to the brim. As instructed, he took it up to Slughorn's desk, gaining the Professor's silent nod of approval before handing it in.</p><p>Returning to his workstation, he noticed Granger's hair had tripled in size. If the smell that emitted from her cauldron was any indication, she'd screwed up even worse than her prior attempt. The evident frustration on her face backed up his conclusion.</p><p>"Honestly, Harry. It's as if you're not reading from the same book!" he heard her hiss at Potter, who appeared to be ignoring her, his nose almost touching the page of text. "You're meant to<em> cut </em>the Sopophorous Bean before adding it in, Harry. Otherwise, it won't—wait! Stop, <em>stop</em>!"</p><p>She reached for Potter's arm, but he lifted it away quick enough for her to miss. "Don't you <em>dare</em> put them in yet–what are you <em>doing</em>!" Draco snorted at her look of dismay as he approached the pair. "<em>Harry James Potter</em>, you hand over that book <em>immediately</em> so I can see <em>exactly</em> what it says!"</p><p>Her voice had gone up an octave, loud enough that the other students began to notice their row. The last thing he needed was her know-it-all preaching. Draco had heard enough.</p><p>"You might as well give up now, Granger," he sneered, stopping in front of her to lean over the cauldron, invading her personal space. The toxic and bitter cloud of despair that accompanied him everywhere as of late began to fade and seemed to shift away, allowing some other magic to rise up and overshadow his own. It felt unsullied and honorable, with a warm pulse he'd only ever sensed around his mother. It made him feel sick that Hermione Granger's magic could possibly be anything like his mother's.</p><p>This silly girl getting so worked up over something as trivial as brewing a calming draught, or some other incorrect potion pissed him right off. It was utterly ridiculous. "By the state of that rat nest on your head, it appears even 'The Chosen One' can't save you from yourself."</p><p>"Watch it, Malfoy."</p><p>Draco's attention shifted to Harry, and he scowled. "As if <em>you</em> actually know what you're doing." He noticed Harry's fingers move against the table, stretching towards his Potions textbook. "I wouldn't be surprised if you turned out to be a bloody cheat, Potter. No <em>way</em> you'd ever outsmart the school swot."</p><p>"You see, even <em>he</em> agrees with me. Something's not right," Hermione interjected with a huff. Her eyes narrowed as she put one hand on her hip, the other pointing directly into Draco's face, catching him off guard. He'd done nothing of the sort. Potter, on the other hand, ignored her completely, focused only on him.</p><p>"Says the boy who needs Daddy to buy his way into, or out of, everything," The Golden Boy shot back. It was a pathetic attempt at a comeback, with the very person who'd said it first standing next to him.</p><p>
  <em>Clearly, not everything. For example: The hideous tattoo on my forearm.</em>
</p><p>"At least <em>my</em> father is around. Remind us again where yours is?" It was a low blow, but considering what had happened and that <em>this lot</em> was the cause of it, he didn't really care. He wouldn't garner any amusement from their usual têt-à-tête at that moment. The knob knew <em>nothing</em> about his father's influence, or in their current case, lack thereof.</p><p>Draco stepped back as Harry lunged at him, knocking Hermione against the cauldron in his haste, only to be stopped as her arm shot out to grab Potter's robe and pull him back to her side.</p><p>"Enough!" she scolded, shooting daggers at them both with her hard stare. "Need I remind you that I am a Prefect! We're Sixth Years now. Start acting like it, or I'll be forced to take points." She turned to Harry. "From <em>both</em> houses."</p><p>Harry, for his part, appeared somewhat admonished. Draco, on the other hand, couldn't care less. He was still a Prefect too, which meant she'd need proper justification to take points from him. Besides, what was a silly inter-house competition when the Dark Lord had actual expectations in your personal success of the impossible?</p><p>He rolled his eyes. "For the love of Merlin, Granger, <em>unclench</em>!" Both of their eyes widened at that. "Perhaps <em>that's</em> what you should be focusing on, Potter. Give her a hand, why don't you. Seeing as no one else will touch her, not even the Weasel," he challenged.</p><p>He didn't stick around to wait for a reply, her gasp telling him enough, and continued on to his workstation to pack up his things. Whatever concoction she'd created was making him <em>feel</em>, a luxury he was no longer allowed to have. It was far too dangerous for emotion now, knowing it could be used against him. Honestly, what did she, or any of them for that matter, know about what it was like to not be successful when it was necessary? It wasn't as if they had a psychotic murderer breathing down their necks.</p><p>Shoving his book back into his bag, he glanced into Theo's cauldron. "Hurry the hell up. I can't stand to be in here any longer with these fucking twats," he snapped.</p><p>Bottling his own assignment up, Theo smirked as he turned his attention to him. "Calm down, mate. We've got lunch after this. No need to twist your knickers."</p><p>Not in the mood <em>at all</em>, Draco grabbed Theo's shoulder bag and shoved it into his chest, giving him a pointed glare. "I have things to do that take precedence over this <em>fucking</em> class, Nott. Now turn that in, and <em>let's go</em>," he seethed. He quickly checked over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching them, then dropped his voice down low. "I need you to help keep an eye out."</p><p>Draco watched the smirk disappear from Theo's face at the reality of what he was implying. Though he'd never told anyone exactly what he'd been up to, it was well known amongst the other Slytherin students that Draco Malfoy was in favor with The Dark Lord. <em>If being 'in favor' means doomed to fail, then sure. That's precisely what I am. </em>Theo, being his closest real friend, knew exactly how much pressure he was under and had made it a point to help him out any way he could.</p><p>Theo gave him a terse nod. "Give me two clicks," he said, grabbing a vial stopper from the table and rushing to the front of the room.</p><p>Annoyed he was being forced to wait, Draco decided he'd rather be alone for a bit first. He'd begun retreating to the abandoned lavatory on the second floor at the start of term, needing a place to hide out that none of his friends would be wise enough to search.</p><p>Not only did he need some quiet for himself, but he also needed to spend some time working on that bloody fucking cabinet. Blowing off the rest of his classes for the day was the only way he would be able to have a bit of solitary silence and spend several hours in the Room of Hidden Things. Now he just hoped that his only sanctuary would be minus a certain moaning ghost. Not bothered at providing an excuse to Theo, Draco spun on his heels and stormed out of the classroom, passing by an even more flustered and pathetic looking Granger on his way out.</p><p>"Harry, you don't understand. Professor Snape made it practically impossible to obtain high marks in Potions last year. I cannot go through that again," he heard her huff as they came up behind him outside the classroom.</p><p>"Hermione, you're the brightest witch of our age. We both know you don't need my help. Or the book," Harry consoled.</p><p>Draco heard her huff with indignation. "Oh, honestly! You have no idea what kind of pressure I'm under, trying to keep my marks up whilst <em>also</em> keeping you and Ronald safe from <em>yourselves</em>. And to be quite frank, it's times like this where I wonder why I even bother with that!"</p><p>She pushed past him as she stomped away, knocking him into Theo, who had managed to catch up to him while he was distracted by Potter and Granger, as she headed up the stairs. He watched her disappear around the corner, hair wildly whipping around behind her. She had <em>no bloody clue</em> what real pressure felt like.</p><p>He was positive no one ever would.</p><p>Unfortunately, the silence he'd sought after was short-lived. Since he'd been unable to dodge Theo after all, Draco had ordered him to hang around the corridor and scare away anyone that came within the vicinity, not wanting him to see exactly where he was headed to. He'd been propped up against one of the stall doors ever since. With his head leant back resting, his eyes began to drift shut when he heard the shrill voice. He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed.</p><p>"You haven't come to visit me all week, Dracoooo."</p><p>Under normal circumstances, Draco wouldn't mind her company. She came off as more of an infatuated schoolgirl than anything else. His being the 'Malfoy Heir' was insignificant to her, she only cared that he was a boy paying attention to her. She was rather annoying, of course, always a consistently nosy know-it-all whenever he was practicing his repairing spells, but she always seemed to be there when he felt most alone. At that moment, though, being alone was all he wanted.</p><p>"Not now, Myrtle. I'm in no mood for you today." The wail that followed was expected.</p><p>"Ruuuuude boy, Draco Malfoy! More attractive than most, but never as polite as the <em>others</em>." She continued to wail as she floated around him. "Harry Potter <em>always</em> makes time for me, you know."</p><p>"Do not speak to me about <em>fucking</em> Potter!" Draco snapped, jumping to his feet, wand drawn, and pointed at the ghost. "Mention his name again, and I will hex you into the faucets!"</p><p>He watched as she retreated back into her stall, moaning his offenses until she disappeared. The silence resumed. He was sick and tired of hearing about '<em>Perfect Potter.'</em> At times, he felt like his entire world was dependent on the sodding git's actions.</p><p>Ironically, no one—not even The Dark Lord—realized that Potter didn't manage his own life at all. He was far too much of a headstrong Gryffindor and mostly got in his own way. It was baffling that no one at Hogwarts seemed to realize that the brilliant ideas and strategic planning that saved The Golden Trio's leader were most often devised by their house's Princess.</p><p>If Draco didn't dislike the bint so much, he'd be offended on her behalf, credit where credit was due, and all that. And if someone was going to get credit for interfering in his plans, he wanted them to at least be his intellectual equal. Yes, he was definitely offended. He had already considered she was probably the brains behind the Department of Mysteries fiasco that ultimately led to his family's downfall, but he was more than happy to blame Potter for what transpired.</p><p>He let out a frustrated growl, storming towards the stall the ghost had fled into and kicked the door as hard as he could, knocking it off of one of the hinges at impact. Breathing heavily, he stood there for a beat, confused as he took in the scene before him.</p><p>Empty vials were strewn across the floor in front of a cauldron that was hovering over a charmed wad of burning paper. Recognizing the smell of Sopophorous Bean, Draco advanced to the boiling pot; his curiosity piqued. Potions that contained that ingredient were only allowed to be brewed by Sixth Years or higher, as far as he was aware. He pondered who would willingly spend their free time perfecting potions?</p><p>"Awfully loud, that one," Draco heard behind him. It appeared he hadn't scared Myrtle off as well as he'd thought. "Always mumbling to herself and dropping things. She's <em>much</em> nicer to me than <em>you</em> are." She hovered next to him, staring down at the mess on the floor. "Such a shame about that hair, though," she shrugged before floating off, moaning as she went.</p><p>There was only one person in the school that was readily recognized by that description. Considering she was such an overbearing nuisance when it came to following the rules, Draco was surprised to see ingredients that could only have come from Slughorns' storage room. He could only conclude that she'd been stealing supplies for whatever it was she was brewing.</p><p>He tisked as he glanced into the cauldron. "You naughty girl, Granger," he mused, noticing the potion was already changing to blue, a clear indicator of a properly brewed Draught of Living Death. He shook his head in annoyance. "Getting your knickers in a twist over a potion, when some of us have real problems<em>."</em></p><p>Seeing how many vials of spoilt potion lay capped on the floor, he wondered if this was something she did often. It wouldn't surprise him, being a Muggle-born, naturally having to work twice as hard in order to keep up with real wizards like himself. <em>Lacking all sense of natural talent, as Father says, those Mudbloods.</em></p><p>His mocking thoughts sobered at that reference. Mudblood. He'd used it so many times when he was younger, specifically towards Granger. He used to relish in the idea it implied: that she was beneath him, that everyone else was less than himself and the other Purebloods at the school. Their only purpose was to go through school and suffer a long career of serving those like him, the only ones worthy of holding any power or position in Wizarding society.</p><p>Now, however, <em>he</em> was the one serving, and his mission was so obviously not meant to be successfully completed, at least not by him.</p><p><em>My, how the mighty have fallen</em>.</p><p>He scoffed to himself, thinking of the Dark Lord's words: 'runt,' 'sniveling.' His father had failed, and despite the pretty (also read disgusting) words of his father's friends, they saw him as nothing but a weakling. Something Draco had never seen himself as, but here he was, on the verge of yet <em>another</em> breakdown in an abandoned girl's lavatory. A lavatory haunted by the ghost of a girl killed by the very person who had set him on this path to failure.</p><p>Moving away from the mess, he leant back against the end of the stalls, sliding down it until he was again on the floor, curling into himself, his head in his hands.</p><p>
  <em>It's not fair...</em>
</p><p>What he would give for a chance to speak with his mother. To see her. To sit in the drawing room that overlooked her elaborate rose garden. He would sip his tea while expelling all of his worries and fears to her that he couldn't allow his father to see. It had been something they'd done every year since he'd received his Hogwarts letter. Prior to term, over the holidays, and when the year had ended. She'd sit patiently and listen, allowing him to vent his frustrations and give him the reassurance and praise he so desperately craved.</p><p>Being this cut off from her left him feeling so lost and alone. She was a warm presence that made him feel rooted in his magic. Confident when he was frightened. Safe when he was anything but.</p><p>Draco felt the air shift, the icy breeze that followed Myrtle as she roamed was back. Too deep in his own misery, he didn't bother shooing her away when she floated towards him.</p><p>"You know, Dracooo," she cooed quietly, drifting down to his level. "You've always been my favorite."</p><p>It was a silly thing to say, to appreciate, especially from a ghost, but the sentiment warmed him, even if only momentarily. They stayed there together in silence, something that had become more common as of late. Draco looked out the window and watched as the clouds outside began to build, the sky darkening, and welcomed it.</p><p>He wished the looming darkness would hide him away from judgemental professors, annoying swots, and long-time friends that had no clue he unwillingly carried the weight of The Dark Lord's wishes on his shoulders.</p><p>It was meant to be easy, yet here he was. Nothing would ever be easy again.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>Draco - November 4, 1996</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>Another day, another pressing anxiety attack. Draco longed for the past. Anything had to be better than the crushing weight that never seemed to lift from his chest since being given the task to kill the Headmaster. How was he supposed to do this without anyone else getting hurt? Well, except for the obvious. Of course, the Dark Lord and Aunt Bella didn't give a fuck if his fellow classmates got hurt. More likely, they'd have encouraged him to use them to further his plans.</p><p>It hurt his head, made him feel like a fucking Hufflepuff. He hadn't wanted any of his classmates to be harmed. If he was honest, he didn't really want to harm Dumbledore. Old fool that he was, he wasn't all bad. If anything, he'd made sure Draco had every opportunity to prove himself. But the threats were thick on the ground, and if he didn't make progress soon, it would all be for naught.</p><p>As Draco approached the door to the second floor girls' loo, he felt a warm sensation spread across his chest and down his arms. The closer to the door he got, the more potent the feeling became. Draco pushed open the door, he was so desperate for a few moments of peace that he ignored the unexplained warmth. Perhaps it was just his body's way of offering him comfort and a chance to recover his erratic breath, a chance to grieve for who he was becoming. Had he been paying attention, he might have recognized the familiar feeling.</p><p>Rather than the kind, if a bit shrill, words he'd hoped for, Myrtle was already speaking to someone. Draco carefully slowed the door, so it would shut soundlessly, and listened.</p><p>"You know, Hermione, before I was killed by that awful snake, I was quite the dab hand at potions," Myrtle said, her words confirming Draco's suspicion from the previous week.</p><p>"Is that so, Myrtle?" She sounded exasperated, something he most certainly understood. Particularly when it came to the lavatory ghost.</p><p>"It is."</p><p>"And what year were you?"</p><p>"Fifth."</p><p>"Ah, but you see, Myrtle, I'm in my sixth year, and if I wanted someone less experienced than myself helping me, I would have partnered with Ronald."</p><p>"You don't have to be ruuuuude!" Myrtle sniffed and then appeared in front of Draco.</p><p>"Oh, hello Dracooo," she cooed and batted her eyelashes. "Did you come to see meeee?"</p><p>Draco heard scrambling on the other side of the partition, followed by the appearance of Hermione Granger. Hair, nearly standing on end, face flushed, and fists clenched. He really could only be thankful her wand wasn't in her hand because he'd bet his inheritance she'd hex him into next week. Not that inheritances meant much when you were living on borrowed time.</p><p>Rather than let her have the first word, Draco patted the wall with an open palm and drawled, "What brings you to this fine establishment, Granger?"</p><p>Her eyes narrowed, and that little line between her brows formed—her fighting face. It thrilled him that she was going to play, shooting little tingles up his spine. It had been a hell of a week; he <em>needed</em> this. "That is none of your business, <em>Malfoy</em>."</p><p>"Actually, it is, you see. This—" Draco waved his hand around the most avoided lavatory in the castle "—is where I like to have a little quiet time."</p><p>Hermione snorted. "You seek quiet and solitude with Myrtle?"</p><p>"Aren't you supposed to be helping the Weasel King cheat? Wouldn't he be interested to know you're here with me? Or perhaps, the incomparable Miss Brown would like to know about—" A popping sound cut Draco off.</p><p>Hermione huffed and turned away, stomping back around the partition. Draco followed her at a leisurely stroll, taking in the rustling sounds and the acrid tinge that had just permeated the air.</p><p>"Well, that's ruined." Kneeling in front of the cauldron, she stuck her wand in and raised it back out, allowing the potion to drop while she studied it closer. "As if Harry's newfound <em>methods</em> weren't already taxing enough, now I get to loathe <em>you</em> even more for distracting me," she grumbled.</p><p>
  <em>Seems there's trouble in paradise for The Golden Trio...</em>
</p><p>"What's Saint Potter done now that has you skulking in Myrtle's lavatory?"</p><p>She rolled her eyes. "I'm not skulking, I'm brewing, and besides, at least <em>I'm</em> a girl; what are <em>you</em> doing in here?"</p><p>Of course, he'd realized that, both from the evidence of brewing materials and the cauldron emitting odd bubbles into the air. What he didn't know was why. "We can talk about that later, right now, you've piqued my curiosity. Why are you skulk-ily brewing in Myrtle's bathroom?"</p><p>"That is not a word!" Hermione shrieked, making Draco's ears ring. "And I needed time away from prying eyes to practice," she added in a less shrill tone.</p><p>"Ha! You're best in our class, or only ever second to me, what do you need to practice for? Let me guess, you're illicitly brewing up some more Polyjuice and have plans to sneak into Slytherin. No need, Granger, I'm happy to give you a very personal tour." He leered with a wink.</p><p>Her mouth dropped open in a gasp. "How do you...you know what, never mind. Honestly, I knew you were distracted, but this is ridiculous. If you must know, Harry has been doing better than me in potions!"</p><p>"Piss off, Granger, Potty isn't better than you at anything."</p><p>"No, he's doing better than <em>you</em> in potions, too. Given that it's the only class you're putting any effort into I'd have thought you would have noticed. Now, what are you really doing here? What's going on that you didn't realize that Harry is outperforming both of us. What is going on with you?" she asked, her hand perched on her hips.</p><p>"That's hardly any of your business," he scoffed, turning to leave.</p><p>"Maybe not, but something's wrong; you're different this year." She turned back to the cauldron and shook her head as she gave it a quick stir, then turned to face him again.</p><p>"Been watching me, Granger? I know I'm quite a sight. These aristocratic lines—" He cocked his head and posed for her, then waved a hand down his torso. "—seeker fit too."</p><p>Hermione stepped away from the spoiled potion, vanishing it with a wave of her wand, then turned her attention back to him. Her head tilted as she took him in, and he wanted to squirm or fidget under her scrutiny. Thank Merlin for the years of having such a simpleton's reaction trained out of him.</p><p>"You've lost weight. You have dark circles under your eyes. You aren't playing Quidditch, and you've hardly tormented anyone during your Prefect rounds. Well, the ones you've bothered showing up for." She shook her head and brushed off her pleated skirt. "No, Draco Malfoy, <em>something's</em> wrong. I don't care what Harry says. Whatever you've gotten yourself into, you're in over your head, and I don't believe for a second that <em>this </em>is what you wanted."</p><p>Draco stood perfectly still; he didn't dare so much as take a breath. With a flick of her wand, Hermione sent her potion's kit back into one of the stalls and started walking toward the door. As she walked past him, his skin broke out in a wave of gooseflesh followed by a soothing warm tingle. It stalled what little capacity to speak he still possessed. And even though he knew he needed to put her off the train of thought she'd expressed, he couldn't so much as think, let alone string two words together. Then she was out the door, and the opportunity was lost. As was the warmth. Cold and despair filled his chest once more as he staggered for one of the sinks.</p><p>
  <em>Gods, what is this?</em>
</p><p><em>Something</em> was happening to him. This was the third time being near Granger had evoked that response. But he'd never experienced the loss without being in the presence of other classmates. It was excruciating, like being hit with a mini-<em>crucio</em>.</p><p>
  <em>Did that bloody witch just curse me? Probably trying to steal my magic, the stupid bint.</em>
</p><p>Of course, he knew that wasn't really something Muggleborns did, stealing magic. His father spouted it out as fact, but Draco was smart enough to know there was no way for someone to actually 'steal' magic.</p><p>
  <em>Still, this is definitely her fault.</em>
</p><p>After several minutes of slow breaths, the world returned to a soft buzzing that had become his norm. But since when did the world buzz? He tried to pinpoint when things had started feeling differently.</p><p>His birthday had passed without merit that summer, the only thing marking the occasion being the invasion of the Manor by the Death Eaters. Thinking back, however, he recalled that the unsettling feeling of cold and despair that Granger's departure had just left him with had begun shortly after that.</p><p><em>If it's not Granger,</em> <em>then…?</em></p><p>It occurred to him that being in the presence of the Dark Lord had elicited the feeling of spiders crawling along his flesh. But the man—if you could call him that—just oozed dark magic.</p><p>
  <em>Magic. Am I sensing magic around me? Am I feeling… her?!</em>
</p><p>Draco shook out his shoulders and rolled his neck, trying to release some of the built-up tension. He spent several more minutes trying to consider other alternatives, but none manifested.</p><p>
  <em>The stress is sending me barmy.</em>
</p><p>He really didn't have time for this nonsense. Stretching out his shoulders one last time, Draco straightened his tie and checked his appearance in the mirror. He was everything Granger had described, but it would have to do. Sneer settled back into place; he turned on his heel and strode back out into the castle. There would be no peace found today.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>Draco - November 9, 1996</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>Days later, Draco found himself banging his head against the carved wood of the broken vanishing cabinet. How could his life boil down to <em>this</em>, a broken cabinet that would effectively destroy everything he cared about one way or another. If he failed to fix it, his mother, and himself for that matter, were dead. And that's if they were lucky. If he managed to fix the damn thing, everyone at the school was at risk.</p><p>He banged his head one more time for good measure. Maybe it would knock some sense into him. But there was nothing for it. The magic that powered the cabinet still felt as tightly twisted and misaligned as it had the first time he had encountered it. What he needed was someone to talk to who understood this kind of magic, but he couldn't risk it. One slip to the wrong person and it would all come crashing down.</p><p>A trip to visit Myrtle appealed, but since his run-in with Granger, she'd been there twice more when he'd sought out his refuge. Quick about-faces had saved him having to converse with her, but it didn't change that she was taking over the one sanctuary he'd found.</p><p>No, he'd give up this morning as a bad job, get some breakfast in the Great Hall and retreat to the library. It might be worth trying to think about the problem from a different angle—anything to avoid a confrontation.</p><p>
  <em>Not to mention that you can sense something that is quite possibly her magic, Draco. Don't discount that.</em>
</p><p>Though he tried to not think about it, the inexplicable stirring of...<em>whatever</em> it was he'd felt around her was harder to ignore than he'd hoped. He'd sat next to Daphne during dinner the previous night, willing those sensations to come back, thinking it was just something he'd never noticed before. Alas, there was only the constant thrumming of magic that he now felt when in The Great Hall. No warmth.</p><p>It was bloody infuriating, having her constantly holding court in his head.</p><p>Wiping his slick hand on his slacks, Draco made his way back to the door to leave the Room of Hidden Things. It was still early enough that no one should be up and about, which proved correct as he swiftly made his way down from the seventh floor, only having to backtrack once for a shifting staircase.</p><p>The Great Hall was sparsely populated, mostly by Ravenclaws and a handful of Hufflepuffs. Draco took a spot at the end of the Slytherin table and started filling his plate when he spotted her. She looked tired. He could commiserate. Not that he would. He looked down at his plate, filled as it would have been when he was training for Quidditch, and sighed. He <em>wanted</em> to eat, he really did, but everything seemed to turn sour with his constant anxiety. He pushed the plate away and instead looked up to the windows that abutted the ceiling, waiting for the owls to arrive with the morning post. Maybe the <em>Prophet</em> would have something useful, not likely, but one never could discount their gossipy reporters' ability to dig up something interesting.</p><p>A few minutes later, the owls descended across the hall, and to his surprise, one of the Malfoy owls landed next to him. Damocles held out his leg, revealing a small scroll of parchment, sealed in green wax with the Malfoy seal. His mother had barely been allowed to communicate with him since he'd been back at Hogwarts, and all communications had been through Snape. This was either good or <em>very</em> bad.</p><p>Afraid to open the missive near prying eyes, Draco stood and walked along the table looking for a bowl of fruit. He spotted an apple and then pilfered a fluffy croissant from one of the many platters of pastries. He wrapped them in the handkerchief he pulled from his pocket and with a parting glance at Granger, which she met with a raised brow, he made his escape from the Great Hall.</p><p>There wasn't a safe place to go, he realized as he found himself standing in the large entrance hall. His dorm would be too crowded; Myrtle's bathroom couldn't be counted on now that Granger had taken up residence. He really did need to do something about that. It was quite cold outside, but it was likely his best option.</p><p>Draco made his way down to the edge of the lake and found a tree wide enough to hide him from view. He proceeded to cast a warming charm on himself and a cushioning charm on the ground. It would have to do.</p><p>The weight on his chest increased as he broke the seal and unrolled the bit of parchment. Immediately he recognized his mother's flowing script, but it looked off, hurried.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>My Dragon,</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>I find myself retired to my suites as the rest of the Manor is quite crowded. Though many of the guests have found the family wing quite unwelcoming, where poor intentions lie. It is my belief that you'll find no respite here over the winter holidays and may find it best to remain at Hogwarts. Though invitations ought not be rejected where possible. No reply is necessary, as I know of your thoughts on this matter.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>With all of my love.</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Draco shuddered. This was not good. Not as bad as it could be, but not good. Years of communicating carefully meant he could decipher what wasn't being said. His mother wasn't being allowed to leave her suites, and it sounded like some of his father's fellow Death Eaters had attempted to harm her. It was a horrid sort of relief knowing that the wards on the family home still worked as they should and were protecting her. But there was only so much the manor could do. And her closing line left him trembling. Narcissa Malfoy had only expressed her love for him in such a direct way a handful of times since he had come to Hogwarts and never in writing. She was scared.</p><p>
  <em>Of course she's scared, you twat!</em>
</p><p>As if you could be anything but terrified living in the same place as the Dark Lord. Constantly protecting your thoughts, never able to let your guard down.</p><p>He felt the panic trying to take hold, his breath coming too fast. But this was too public a space, even if it was quiet. He needed to get his shit together and maybe brew a draught of peace. It gave him a thought. He could commandeer one of the other stalls and do some brewing in Myrtle's bathroom too. Not like Granger could report him without revealing her own illicit activities.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>Hermione - November 9, 1996</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>Hagrid had invited them down to his hut for tea; it was the first time they'd been to visit him since the term had begun. Hermione had finally convinced him that their opting out of Care of Magical Creatures was solely due to the rigorous N.E.W.T. level course requirements and not due to his...alternative teaching methods. She and Harry were the only ones in attendance, as Ron had made it clear he had <em>other</em> things to do. They'd seen Malfoy on their way out of the castle; he'd given her an odd look when they'd passed each other before sneering at Harry.</p><p>
  <em>Boys.</em>
</p><p>Unfortunately, now he was <em>all</em> she could focus on, with Hagrid currently going on about the latest beast he'd rescued.</p><p>Draco Malfoy had always unnerved Hermione. Even that very first time they'd stood toe-to-toe on the Hogwarts Express when she was helping Neville find his toad.</p><p>He was like a cool breeze that triggered the contraction of every follicle of hair on her limbs. He'd always felt that way to her, like he was a heartbeat away from setting off her predator/prey response. Not that she would ever back down—run away. No, she was a Gryffindor, after all.</p><p>But now something was different. She hadn't been around Draco much since the start of term. In fact, she was pretty sure the first time he'd spoken to her had been that day in potions when Harry yet again achieved a better potion than she did. She'd subconsciously begun looking for him in the crowds of students she passed between classes, though she couldn't quite pinpoint why. It was probably the result of her stubborn curiosity, an attempt to analyze him now that she'd held an actual conversation with him.</p><p>
  <em>Absolute, utter, rubbish. Hermione Granger, you are clearly losing your mind! A complete waste of time.</em>
</p><p>And that had been that, she'd pushed him from her mind. It wasn't like she didn't have plenty of other things to concern herself with, like having her heart stomped upon by Ronald's newfound affection for Lavender Brown. She had to admit it was still a shock.</p><p>Taking a sip of her tea, she realized it had gone cold. The sour face she pulled, as a result, caught Hagrid's attention.</p><p>"All right there, 'ermione? Be wantin' any more tea? I've got plenty here for us all," he offered. She noticed Harry shaking his head vehemently behind him. He obviously didn't want to stay long.</p><p>"Thank you for offering Hagrid, but no. I'm fine." She smiled.</p><p>"Suit yerself, lass. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, so the codgy seller 'ad me followin' him into Knockturn Alley…"</p><p>Quietly sighing, Hermione let his voice fade into the background, resuming her previous thoughts.</p><p>Sequestering herself in Myrtle's lavatory to perfect Draught of Living Death had made for an effective distraction. Of course, that was before Malfoy invaded her refuge. Sharing a space with him, she'd expected to feel heated, coiled in a constant state of frustration and anger, the exact opposite of what she sought out when she'd commandeered it. Instead, he was just...there, just existed as a neutral presence, which was odd, considering his almost constant state of despair. If it weren't for the fact that he was a giant prat, she could almost admit to wanting to explore it further. Then there was the fact that he was clearly going through something and her stubborn curiosity was not easily pushed aside.</p><p>Of course, who wasn't going through something these days? Harry was a mess of denied grief; she could tell by the lack of enthusiasm in Hagrid's current commentary that he was struggling even now. She wished there was more she could do for him but knew this was something he'd have to work through in his own time. Ron continued to have the emotional depth of a teaspoon, though that wasn't very unexpected. Most of her housemates seemed ready to fall apart, especially those from the DA who had been in the Department of Mysteries…</p><p>Noticing Harry reach for his coat, she set her tea down and began to gather her things. She was itching to get back to the castle and check on her potions.</p><p>"Thank you for having us, Hagrid. We'll make sure to come visit you again soon," Harry said, heading for the door.</p><p>"Yes, thank you for tea, Hagrid. It's been lovely," she agreed, stepping into his hug.</p><p>"Tell that boy Weasley that 'e needs to come up fer air e'ry once in a while. Poor lad's gonna ferget how to breathe if 'e keeps 'imself attached to someone like that," the half-giant chuckled. Patting Hermione on the head, he leant down and whispered in her ear, "Don't you worry yerself about 'im, dear. 'E'll realize what 'e's gonna lose wivout you before long."</p><p>Not knowing how on earth to respond to that, she laughed nervously and nodded before following Harry out the door.</p><p>"Well, that was interesting," Harry mumbled as they walked back up the hill towards the castle.</p><p>"Is that really what people are assuming?" she lamented. "That I'm moping around the school while Ron is off snogging Lavender in every corner of it? Are they really that thick?"</p><p>They crossed over the bridge that led back up to the castle, dodging a gaggle of Hufflepuffs who were chatting away about that morning's feast. Hermione could swear she felt their pity for her as they passed.</p><p>"Does it help that I'm not?" Harry shrugged.</p><p>She smiled. There was no doubting why Harry was her best friend. "Yes, actually. It does. Thanks for that."</p><p>They slowed to a stop when they reached the quad, Harry turning to face her. "You know not to listen to stuff like that, yeah? Trust me, people will always speak about you like they know you. You'll learn to ignore it."</p><p>"Honestly, Harry. It's all just nonsense," she said, waving him off with her hand. "Believe me, with everything that's happened this last year, Voldemort being back and you working alongside Dumbledore now, what Ronald chooses to do with his time is the <em>last</em> thing on my mind."</p><p>He cleared his throat. "Right, well. Good then. Um, speaking of Dumbledore, I was anxious to leave Hagrid's because…"</p><p>Hermione gave him a playful shove, pushing him towards the castle. "Go on then. I have things to do anyway."</p><p>Saying their goodbyes, she made her way towards the second floor, relieved when she reached the confines of the abandoned lavatory. The snickers she heard after she'd almost run straight into Lavender and the Patil twins on her way up the staircase were enough to make her blood simmer. She knew she was being baited by the other students into lashing out. She'd <em>never</em> stoop to that level of pettiness. She'd experienced <em>far</em> worse than teenage heartbreak.</p><p>This was why she needed distractions. Anything to avoid feeling the icy chill that still emanated from the purple bruise-like mark that marred the left side of her ribcage. Dolohov's curse. She was so far from okay that it wasn't funny. Forcing herself to reflect on everything she'd been through in just the past few months, she had to admit that her sudden desire to figure out what was going on with Malfoy was just the tip of the iceberg.</p><p>If anything, it might be worth using Malfoy as a distraction. He was pretty to look at, even if he was foul. Harry was convinced Malfoy was a Death Eater of some sort, but their encounter in the loo left her even more convinced he wasn't some enthusiastic agent of Voldemort. He looked exhausted and desperate. Draco looked like they all did. Like he needed someone to give him a chance. Not that Hermione was that person, but it bothered her all the same that he seemed alone in whatever his struggle was.</p><p>Glancing around her workspace, she noticed it was void of its resident ghost. The stillness in the air wasn't as welcoming as it once was. The quiet isolation was almost daunting. She wondered if this was a feeling that Malfoy experienced regularly.</p><p>Then again, she was feeling awfully alone in her own struggles. She'd hidden the panic attacks and nightmares during the first half of summer until she escaped to the Burrow. Ginny had her own demons; it was a relief to have someone to share them with. Even though Hermione had hidden them as best she could, she was pretty sure her parents suspected more had happened to her than she'd admitted.</p><p>Sighing, she glanced down at the open textbook before beginning the next step of stirring her potion clockwise, twelve times.</p><p>She hated to admit it, but her parents were becoming a liability. Or rather, Hermione was becoming a liability to them. She was an adult in the wizarding world, which meant her parent's home no longer had any protections on it. And that made one thing abundantly clear to Hermione: she would not be going back to their home while Voldemort and the Death Eaters roamed free. It didn't take a great intuitive leap to come to the conclusion that someone as high profile as Hermione would be followed right back to her parents.</p><p>That didn't make any of it hurt less, though. No, it just gave Hermione more incentive to focus on her studies and the trivialities of her schoolmates. There wasn't anything she could do to stop the creeping dread surrounding the bubble of safety that was Hogwarts. So she would do whatever she could to make the most of the time that was left. The time before everything was almost certainly going to fall apart.</p>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A/N: Thank you so much for reading the Prologue &amp; Chapter 1 of our new story! If you liked it - we live for comments :)<br/>Huge thanks go out to our Beta @Irma66! And to @Elliebear for the beautiful story cover. Special thanks also need to go out to our reading/writing/life group for all the support and encouragement you've given us as we took on the behemoth project!! Thank you, friends!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Our sincerest thanks for all of the comments and kudos we've received on the first chapter. What a warm welcome into the fandom! We love these two and are glad you're along for the ride.<br/>Special thanks to our Beta Irma66, and to all our fandom friends that continue to cheer us on.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Chapter 2 Ignorance Isn't Bliss</strong>
</p><p>Draco - November 11, 1996</p>
<hr/><p>Draco shoved the door open to what his mind—in a highly unfortunate turn of events—had started to think of as his and Granger's loo. Since receiving his mother's letter over the weekend, it was <em>imperative</em> that he get rid of her. She was far too observant, which didn't even touch on how he was convinced he could sense her magic.</p><p>
  <em>Of all the bloody witches!</em>
</p><p>He walked around the partition and found her bent over a bubbling cauldron, just as he had the previous Monday after potions. Her hair crackled in a wild halo of magic. She'd discarded her robes, and in her current position, her skirt was lifted above regulation length, exposing the stretch of skin from mid-thigh down the back of her knees to just a bit of her upper calf. He'd never noticed her legs before; they were shapely, toned. He had a sudden vision of lifting them onto his shoulders.</p><p>He swallowed hard and reassured himself it was just normal teenage hormones. Maybe that explained everything he'd been feeling: hormones—not magic. He couldn't be expected to control his response to a pretty witch, no matter her blood status. Even as he forced himself to acknowledge this as fact, he felt he may have been having to try a bit too hard to believe it—all the more reason to get her out of here.</p><p>He cleared his throat. "Granger, what will it take to get you to go away? Perhaps some galleons, surely you need them being <em>Muggle-born</em> and all."</p><p>Without turning away from her cauldron, she laughed a breathy giggle that made him feel uncomfortable. "Ha! You think my family is poor?"</p><p>He rolled his shoulders and tried to focus. "Obviously."</p><p>She whipped around, her magic a tangible thing in the air. Fuck, she had so much raw power he could feel it from where he stood across the room. <em>So much for it just being hormones.</em></p><p>"<em>You</em> are an ignorant idiot, Draco Malfoy," she said, crossing her arms across her chest.</p><p>Draco leaned against the column at the end of the partition and tried to ignore the tingle of her magic along his skin. He scoffed and replied, "I am neither of those things."</p><p>She rolled her eyes, bloody<em> rolled her eyes</em> at him. Incredulous, he stood, poison on the tip of his tongue, but before he could speak, she released a huff of a breath and turned away from him, back to her cauldron.</p><p>"If you could possibly think the daughter of two highly respected dental surgeons needs galleons, then yes, you are," she said, bending back over and beginning to stir counter-clockwise.</p><p>The smooth expanse of her thighs was revealed again, distracting Draco for a moment before he realized that he had no idea what she was talking about.</p><p>
  <em>Her parents hold respected professions?</em>
</p><p>It both made sense given what he knew of her decorum and left him befuddled, as Muggles—to his understanding—were dirty, poor, bereft. He ground his teeth, filling with tension at his lack of knowledge, but he couldn't let her dismissal stand. "<em>Dental</em> surgeons?"</p><p>Hermione's hand rose behind her back in a wait gesture. Draco fumed while he waited for her to refocus on him, and if she didn't damn well hurry it up, he was going to leave, no matter how good the warm waves radiating from her magical core—or <em>wherever</em> they came from—felt. He resisted the urge to shuffle his feet or fuss with his fringe. Just as his resolve was giving way, her hand dropped, and she turned back to him.</p><p>"For when Muggles need specialized care for their teeth. My parents are highly trained healers, Malfoy," she said, her earlier anger seeming diminished, though he could still feel her magic like a pulse in the room. A familiar pulse, he realized.</p><p>
  <em>Merlin, is she the source of the pulsing I've felt since returning to Hogwarts?</em>
</p><p>Draco had never suspected that the deep thrum that followed him no matter where he went in the castle could possibly have been another person. That it was Hermione<em> fucking </em>Granger was shocking above and beyond even its existence. He desperately needed to speak with someone about this, but his options were woefully limited. His first choice would have been his mother, but he had no idea how to communicate with her clandestinely. His Godfather might be able to explain it, but Draco wasn't feeling trusting where Snape was concerned.</p><p>He opted to dismiss the thought for later consideration since he was in the middle of a discussion, but found he didn't know what to say. "Oh," slipped out as he continued to stare at Hermione in confusion.</p><p>That tinkling laugh that crinkled the corners of her eyes broke the tension, her magic seemed to ebb, and now she simply looked resigned, but with what might have been a hint of curiosity. "What did you think Muggles did when they needed healing?"</p><p>Draco relaxed his shoulders and resumed his lean, conceding, "I suppose I've never thought about it."</p><p>She nodded like this was the answer she expected. "Like I said, ignorant, but I'll consider retracting the idiot part if you choose to rectify your ignorance."</p><p>This conversation was becoming absurd. It wasn't as though he actually gave a damn about<em> Muggles</em>. "Like I care what you think, Granger."</p><p>"If you say so." She stirred her potion for a few more moments, cast a wordless spell, and started to clear up her supplies.</p><p>Draco stood and watched her, mulling over what she'd said. And finally decided to try to end this latest interaction on a low note. "So I can't pay you off since you aren't <em>poor</em>. Perhaps, given Weaslby's current dalliance and Potter's obvious—" he shuddered "—infatuation with the girl-Weasley, I can offer my matchmaking services. I'm sure there's a nice Hufflepuff who'd be willing to accompany you on the next Hogsmeade day," he said as she walked past him.</p><p>She abruptly stopped and turned to face him head-on, shoulders squared. "I am not in need of galleons nor of any <em>assistance</em> in obtaining an escort <em>if</em> I so desired one. But maybe you could use my assistance." She leaned in, holding her hand to her mouth, miming sharing a secret. "I saw Parkinson cozying up with a Ravenclaw." She brought her hand over her mouth with a shocked inhalation.</p><p>Draco gritted his teeth and sneered at her. "Pansy and I are just friends. I could have my pick of witches."</p><p>Granger had the nerve to yawn dramatically. "If you say so, Malfoy, but personally, you're looking a little thin. Makes you even pointier than you used to be." She shrugged." Be seeing you then."</p><p>She was around the corner and out the door before Draco could calm enough to retort. Her ability to get the last word in soured any gratification he'd achieved by pestering her. Hermione Granger was an absolute menace, and he needed her out of his lavatory and out of his life immediately.</p><p>He waited a few minutes so as not to end up immediately running back into her, or—Circe forbid—have someone notice them both leaving the loo at the same time. Once he felt it had been long enough, he left. His mind was a mess of thoughts ranging from murder plots and odd inherited talents to a need to head to the library's Muggle studies section.</p>
<hr/><p>Draco - November 14, 1996</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>Curse this castle!</em>
</p><p>Draco stood at the top of the stairs as they swung around to deposit him at the opening of the wrong hall. He was already overdue to begin his Prefect rounds, and while he didn't care that he was inconveniencing Granger, because he absolutely <em>did not,</em> he couldn't help but hear her voice, swotty and a touch shrill, calling him out for how he'd been neglectful of his duties. Again. He was a Malfoy; he could not let that stand.</p><p>It also didn't help that Snape kept giving him that <em>look</em>, his face pinched and disgusted. Disappointed. He could feel it. Everyone was disappointed in him. Or fucking homicidal.</p><p>The stairs finally settled, and he took long strides across the hall back to where he'd been trying to go. Of course, by the time he reached the classroom they used as a meeting space for the Prefects, Granger was gone. He was <em>never</em> going to hear the end of this. She'd already given him her thoughts on his lack of dedication to his Prefect duties. If she only knew. Luckily, or perhaps not, he did know the route she would be taking, so he headed for a shortcut that should put him in her path in a few short minutes.</p><p>He slipped behind a tapestry into a hidden passageway and, safe from prying eyes, picked up his pace to a jog until he reached the end. A quick look around let him know that the hallway was clear, but then he heard voices and the telltale warm pulses he always felt when Granger was near.</p><p>"You know Hermione, I'd be happy to escort you to Slughorn's Christmas party now that Ron is otherwise engaged."</p><p>Ugh, Draco knew that voice. Ernie Macmillan, kiss ass of the century, and pompous prick to boot.</p><p>"Oh, um...actually, I've—"</p><p>"I'm a far superior choice after all."</p><p>She scoffed. "How do you figure?"</p><p>"I'm a Prefect and top of our class."</p><p>Draco snorted, top of their class. Granger was top of their class, and even with his distractions, Draco was still ranked higher than Macmillan… and wasn't a Hufflepuff.</p><p>"Ernie, <em>I'm</em> top of our class. And Ron's a Prefect too."</p><p>"Top <em>man</em> of our class, and besides, Hermione, it's not like anyone else will make you an offer."</p><p><em>Oh, for fucks sake</em>.</p><p>Draco'd had enough. He might take pleasure in giving Granger shit, but hearing it from someone like Macmillan didn't sit right. He was self-aware enough to recognize he didn't like it when others played with his toys, and Granger was <em>his </em>toy. Not to mention she could definitely do better than that badger.</p><p>Draco pushed the tapestry out of his way and stepped into the hall. He took a moment to observe them, Granger's shoulders were nearly up to her ears and her normally easy, yet purposeful walk was stilted and stiff. Her magic was sharp pins and needles along his spine. He called out, "Granger, sorry I'm late."</p><p>Granger seemed to startle at his voice and then, to his surprise, her shoulders relaxed and he could feel the tension of her magic release in a wave of warmth. She turned to him, and he could swear she looked happy to see him. He returned her smile and felt a moment of shared camaraderie; they both disliked Macmillan. This was a strange world indeed.</p><p>"Honestly, Malfoy," she scolded, though she couldn't hide her smirk. He sighed internally. <em>Ah, yes. Here we go</em>. "Your tardiness is shocking, considering how important punctuality is amongst the Wizarding Aristocracy. Surely you've been taught that. Shall I start shopping for a watch for you for Yule? Maybe then you'd be on time."</p><p>Macmillan had turned around as well and looked positively furious, while Draco couldn't help but startle at her words.</p><p>Draco cleared his throat. "Granger, you may not realize this, but in pureblood culture, a watch, or any similar gift, is seen as a promise."</p><p>"A promise of what?" she asked, glancing between him and Macmillan.</p><p>Macmillan cleared his throat, finally finding his voice. "Of marriage, Hermione."</p><p>Her face turned bright red. "Oh!" She turned away from them both and started fidgeting with her hair.</p><p>Feeling terribly uncomfortable, Draco turned to Macmillan and scowled.</p><p>"What are you still doing here, Macmillan? Quit hovering and go." He didn't like the way the bloke was eyeing Hermione, as though he wanted to reach out and comfort her. <em>Or feed her, the bloody 'Puff.</em></p><p>"But-"</p><p>"I said, I'll be completing my rounds with Granger."</p><p>"Actually, you said nothing of the sort."</p><p>"It was implied."</p><p>The stupid git shook his head slowly, finally taking his eyes off Granger and acknowledging him. Macmillan squared his shoulders and lifted his head to look up to Draco.</p><p>"No, I don't-"</p><p>"I <em>insist</em>," Draco said, taking a threatening step into his space and glowering down at him. The idiot needed to take the hint.</p><p>Granger continued to shift uncomfortably but nodded her assent to Macmillan. The Hufflepuff stomped back in the direction he and Granger had come, and once he was around the corner, Draco let himself relax. "I thought 'Puffs were supposed to be <em>nice</em>," he said, pushing his fingers through his hair.</p><p>Granger laughed, short but loud. "You thought wrong. Ernie is… Well, you know how much I enjoy <em>your</em> company Malfoy." He nodded. "I much prefer your company to his."</p><p>He whistled. "That bad?"</p><p>"Assuming you heard at least part of our conversation—" she looked at him, challenging him to deny it. When he didn't, she continued, "—then you know how highly he thinks of himself."</p><p>He scoffed. "Couldn't tell his arse from his head, that, I've been known to express self-confidence a time or two," he teased, much to his own surprise, and hers apparently too. "Not as though anyone would challenge it," he added quickly, clearing his throat.</p><p>She narrowed her eyes and started walking down the hall. "True, but <em>you</em> can back up your claims. 'I'm top of our class,'" she parroted Macmillan's earlier words.</p><p>Draco couldn't help but snort. "He is quite full of himself."</p><p>She flung her hair over her shoulder and nodded firmly. "Quite."</p><p>They continued on for a few moments in silence, which was oddly <em>not</em> awkward in the least. Passing through the trophy room, Draco glanced at her, observing how she carried herself while they walked. She maintained an air of confidence in her stride akin to Pansy, seemingly not at all bothered by that idiot's words. To be fair, she'd seemed more uncomfortable that she'd had to hold her tongue out of sheer politeness than over what he'd actually said.</p><p>Her self-restraint was impressive. Not for the first time, he wondered how often she had to do that with Potter and Weasley.</p><p>"Well, for what it's worth, you can do better than him. I'm sure the Weasel King will come to his senses soon enough."</p><p>He glanced down at her wild hair. Even though it was most certainly sentient, it looked soft and full, and he had the sudden urge to touch it. It wasn't at all sleek like Pansy's, and Draco found it surprisingly pretty up close. "I mean, at least you don't put all those—" he flicked her hair with a grimace "—odd bows and such in your nest."</p><p>Hermione turned to him for a moment and actually smiled, a real smile, like ones he'd seen her give people she considered her friends. It shouldn't have affected him in the least, yet, he felt a stirring, both more and less than the pulses and waves. This was something different he couldn't quite identify. He quickened his pace to put some distance between them.</p><p>"Why, Malfoy," she said, her feet scuffing against the stone in her rush to keep up. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you just paid me a compliment."</p><p>He coughed to clear the tightness in his throat. He most certainly did <em>not</em>. "Luckily, you know better."</p><p>"Yes. I suppose I do," she nodded, tucking her hair behind her ear. It didn't stay put; he found it was almost endearing. "You know," she continued, "I think I'm realizing that maybe I was too quick to berate you for your ignorance of Muggles."</p><p>He arched a brow. "What's this? Finally coming to your senses then?" They rounded the corner to another set of winding stairs.</p><p>She huffed. "Well, clearly, I'm ignorant of some of the pureblood traditions." He smirked as her cheeks pinkened. "I'm not saying I would have actually gotten you a Yule gift, <em>obviously</em>, but I can only imagine the misunderstandings that come from such a cultural disconnect."</p><p>Draco stared at her, finding himself feeling a bit adrift. It wasn't every day that Hermione Granger admitted to being wrong or ignorant on a subject. "Um...I suppose much of that sort of thing is taught through experience and direct familial instruction," he said, thinking of how his mother always helped him select appropriate Yule gifts with explanations of why a choice was or was not appropriate. It made him think of his mother trying to get him to buy Pansy jewelry in fifth year, but he knew better. All sons of the Sacred Twenty-Eight made sure to pass that information and a polite warning about meddling mothers onto all the First Year boys. He had not been ready to commit himself to Pansy, or any other witch, for that matter; A sentiment he still held, despite his parent's decisions on his behalf. A box of domestic chocolates was the most he was willing to go.</p><p>He shook his head, pulling himself out of those thoughts. It wasn't as if Granger would end up marrying into one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families. "Besides, it's not like purebloods and Muggle-borns spend a lot of time socializing—"</p><p>She stopped abruptly in front of him and whipped around to face him, causing him to catch himself before stumbling into her. She shook her head with a huff.</p><p>"Figures you'd fall back on your prejudices," she admonished, her hip jutting out, arms crossing in front of her. "Tell me then, what exactly do you call what we've been doing, or even what we're doing right now, Malfoy?" Her eyebrows shot up, her look expectant.</p><p>Not appreciating her tone, he bit out, "<em>Unwilling</em> conversance due to <em>forced</em> proximity."</p><p>Arms dropping, she snorted and said, "If you say so, but I'll have you know no one is <em>forcing</em> you to be here with me now, and no one is <em>forcing</em> you to continue to use the second-floor bathroom as a hideout."</p><p>Draco fumbled mentally to argue against Granger's point as she started walking again, her determined steps echoing through the stone corridor. He took a focusing breath and used his longer stride to make up the distance between them.</p><p>"I've read up on wizarding culture and pureblood culture, too," she continued picking back up the thread of their conversation.</p><p>"Oh?" he said, articulation failing him, as it so often seemed to in her presence.</p><p>"Well, of course," she huffed. "It wasn't like I haven't recognized that there are a lot of things I'm not familiar with—that I lack knowledge of wizarding customs. But there isn't much to read. It's not like anyone has written a book, 'Wizarding for Dummies'."</p><p>Draco felt like he was missing the punchline to a joke. "Pardon?"</p><p>Granger's hand smacked against her forehead, then pushed back a few errant curls as she let out a frustrated little sigh. "Sorry, Muggle reference, but that's my point." She spared him a fleeting glance before they ducked their heads to check an empty classroom. "You hardly know anything about the Muggle world, and while I've tried, my knowledge of wizarding customs is limited. I ask when I can, but if you knew the number of times I've had my head patted condescendingly..." She actually growled, and he felt her magic tickle along his skin, as they turned away from the classroom and continued their rounds.</p><p>It made sense that she would balk at such treatment, bright thing that she was. But he understood in a way she couldn't that for much of the wizarding world, a witch like Hermione Granger was a novelty. Something to be paraded around as an example of their tolerance, all the while mocking her lack of culture and training. <em>Poor Muggle-born.</em> He'd seen it enough times. And now, with the Dark Lord's power rising, he didn't want to envision how she would be treated, probably still as a novelty, but not in any sort of a good way.</p><p>Draco had acknowledged to himself enough times that he didn't want his classmates hurt due to his mission, but this was the first moment when he feared not just collectively but for the person standing in front of him. He didn't want her to come to harm. It was a startling revelation and one that he didn't have the wherewithal to unpack at that given moment, and certainly not in her company.</p><p>Draco's Dark Mark throbbed, and he resisted rubbing it in favor of ruffling the rat's nest she called hair. "Well, Granger, you're just so short, I'm sure they couldn't help it."</p><p>She growled again, and he could feel her magic go from a tickle back to the pins and needles that indicated her irritation. Suddenly her attention shifted from him to a narrow corridor.</p><p>"Hey, it's after curfew!" she called before storming after what looked to be a pair of younger students who clearly hadn't learned the Prefect routes yet. He snickered to himself and followed after her. He hoped they were Gryffindors.</p>
<hr/><p>Draco - November 15, 1996</p>
<hr/><p>Friday afternoon found Draco exhausted and irritable. He'd made zero progress on the damn cabinet. Though he did have a suspicion that he was being followed. There were only two people in the castle that really seemed to set him off now that he'd begun paying attention. But even this low-grade buzz of magic was familiar, if not overpowering, like Granger and Dumbledore. It meant he'd had to recruit Crabbe and Goyle to stand guard when he was working on the seventh floor. Something which he greatly regretted for all their gas and bluster about it. As if they were actually doing a task for the Dark Lord.</p><p>
  <em>Ha! They could have the task and the Dark Lord with it, fools!</em>
</p><p>But none of that changed a thing. Draco had made no progress of note, and that was not a good thing. Made worse by the fact that those two idiots were sure to report their assistance to their fathers, who, while also idiots, were idiots in the inner circle.</p><p>Draco hated all of this. This year was meant to be easy!</p><p>He pushed into his last hideout, hoping with all his being that it would be empty. The universe clearly wasn't looking out for him. He could sense her presence as soon as he crossed through the door.</p><p><em>Bloody magic</em>.</p><p>Draco had barely come around the edge of the partition, his destination being the sinks, when Granger called out, "For someone who devotes a considerable amount of time moaning about my irritating presence, you sure are spending a lot of time with me. I know why I keep coming here, but why do you? You never did tell me that first day we ran into each other here."</p><p>Groaning, Draco slumped against the sink, resting his forehead against the warped mirror. "It's complicated."</p><p>He heard the rustling of glass and fabric, then felt the familiar pulse that was Granger. Now that he was paying closer attention, Draco had realized he did have a sense of a few other people in the castle. But none of them came close to what he felt from Granger. She had a higher frequency with more amplitude than any other person in the castle; even Dumbledore was more of a dull throb. But Granger, she was a distracting presence across the space that no other could compare to. He was really quite fed up with it, to be honest. Intellectually, he knew it was interesting, there being so many unique variations on people's personal magic.</p><p><em>Just admit you find it fascinating. </em>He rolled his eyes at his reflection.</p><p>"It turns out I'm quite intelligent," Granger said, drawing him out of his thoughts. "I daresay, I could follow whatever it is that is troubling you."</p><p>"That's part of the problem," he said under his breath.</p><p>Hermione walked closer to him, her hand resting on his. Draco looked down at her hand, it was so small, and her golden-hued skin contrasted strongly with his pale coloring. Whenever Pansy or any of his other housemates had touched him, be it a pat on the back or an invitation for more, it had been just that—a simple touch. Now though, the feeling of her skin on his made his hand tingle slightly, as though that pulse he'd sensed before had become tangible. <em>Curious.</em></p><p>His nose scrunched and he arched a brow at her unexpected hand placement. She seemed to catch herself after a moment and snatched it away.</p><p>"Sorry," she said quietly. A beat of silence passed. He could feel her magic tense as she chewed on her lip in thought, before looking up at him. Their eyes met and he found he couldn't look away. He felt the tension in the air, like those moments Firenze had described when he taught Divination. This was a moment in time that held weight.</p><p>"It's just, I'm not your enemy, you know?" He wasn't expecting that.</p><p>Draco flinched and turned back to the mirror, only to let his head settle back against its cool surface again. "Do I know that?" he asked, quite past frustrated. What did she know of enemies?</p><p>She tilted her head. "Well, I can't see how I could be?" She stepped closer. "What could I ever do to you, Malfoy?"</p><p>He laughed, and he could hear his Aunt Bella in the edge of insanity that seemed to be there.</p><p>"Plenty!" Draco swallowed down what he really wanted to say, which consisted mostly of word vomit about how frightened he was and how he wanted a way out. But they were already treading far too close to dangerous territory. Instead, he said, "You struck me in Third Year."</p><p>She gasped. "You deserved that, Buckbeak—"</p><p>"I saw what you did to that Ravenclaw girl." He forced himself to keep a straight face as she blustered.</p><p>"Oh, pish-posh, if she weren't a sneak—"</p><p>He had her on her back foot now and his need to regain control felt satisfied. He shifted into a casual lean against the mirror and pretended to inspect his nails. "Rita Skeeter?" Her magic began to spike as she momentarily panicked before schooling her features. He couldn't help but smirk. <em>Can't hide from me now, Granger.</em></p><p>Hermione cleared her throat. "I'm sure I have no idea. Rita and I may have had our difference in Fourth Year, but she has written several very nice pieces featuring me since.</p><p>Pushing himself off of the sink, he moved into her space and crossed his arms. "Come off it! She's friends with my mother. I overheard the story." Her eyes widened as he leaned down to her ear, and whispered, "You're blackmailing her."</p><p>"Well, that's hardly—" She stopped abruptly when he shifted again, bringing his face level with hers.</p><p>"No, Granger, you could do plenty to cause me a great deal of harm if you put your mind to it," he stated, looking her straight in the eye.</p><p>
  <em>Like if anyone at the manor found out how much time I've spent with you rather than on my task.</em>
</p><p>Another beat passed as she searched his face, before lifting her chin defiantly. "And if, instead, I were more interested in helping you?" she challenged.</p><p>He stumbled away from her, putting as much space as possible between them and angling back for the door. He may have been intrigued at this newfound ability to sense her, but that was too much. "You can't. There's nothing you could do to help me," he said and turned on his heel, heading for the door as quickly as he could.</p><p>Draco had to get out of there, somewhere she couldn't follow. Manners be damned, he ran for the closest staircase and took several winding halls, just in case, and made his way to the seventh floor.</p><p>He knew he should try to continue working on the cabinet, but he couldn't. He needed a breather, or maybe a breakdown, definitely some firewhiskey, and a good fuck would probably go a long way to relieving some of the pressure. It was the first time that he regretted ending things with Pansy. She may have been annoying, but she was also reliable. Draco was not suited to being alone. But how could he possibly bring another person along for this ride? He couldn't, and that was that.</p><p>Draco paced across the hall the requisite three times, thinking of a quiet space he could rest. The door appeared, and inside were several plush sofas, a roaring fire, and a tea service that smelled of raspberry and chamomile. It was identical to the drawing room at the manor. The only thing missing was his mother. He really did both love and hate this room.</p><p>Rather than think too much about it, he walked to the table and poured himself a cup of tea, adding honey, and then settled onto the sofa nearest the fire.</p><p>He sipped the tea and let his thoughts drift. Granger's question floated through his mind. "<em>I know why I keep coming here, but why do you?" </em>It was a good question and connected a little too well to her previous observation that no one was forcing him to spend time with her. Yet, he kept finding himself drawn to her and to places he was likely to find her.</p><p>Draco liked to pride himself on his self-awareness. It had played a role in developing his occlumency skills, most certainly.</p><p>He was not suited to being alone.</p><p>Was that really what it came down to? He was lonely and needy?</p><p><em>Yes, Draco, that is precisely what you are, exhibit one: Moaning Myrtle</em>.</p><p>Setting his cup and saucer on the small table beside the sofa, Draco let himself stretch out. He pushed and pulled each muscle and rolled his neck. He really did miss quidditch; at least the physical exertion that helped keep him distracted.</p><p>
  <em>And hungry, do mind the appetite.</em>
</p><p>More than any of the other things that might have been pleasant, what he really needed was sleep. A good night's sleep was so far in his past that he almost didn't remember what it was like. Maybe he could sleep for a bit here on this comfortable couch with the heat of the fire warming him.</p><p>He heard a soft pop and sat up. Sitting on the table by the tea service was a vial. He rose from the sofa and went to investigate. According to the label, color, and smell, it was a vial of diluted dreamless sleep. Strong enough for a nap, not a full night's sleep.</p><p>
  <em>If you have to ask, you'll never know. If you know, you need only ask.</em>
</p><p>He had made the right decision coming here. But it still didn't answer the question as to why he continued to go to that infernal lavatory. Yes, yes, he was lonely, he was hurting. But Granger? Really?</p><p>He could almost hear his father: "A Mudblood, honestly? You are a disgrace to the name Malfoy."</p><p>Draco unstoppered the vial and tossed back the contents in one swallow. <em>Besides</em>, he argued back to his father's voice in his head, <em>Technically, it's two Mudbloods, father. Thanks to the Chamber of bloody Secrets</em>.</p><p>He knew it should matter. He was supposed to despise all of the Muggle-borns— Mudbloods —but he was just so tired. Hating Granger was more effort than he had left in him. Arguing with her was a nice distraction. Especially when her eyes got the fiery glint in them, and her magic would crackle through her hair and cause his skin to tingle. She was magnificent; he could watch her like that for hours. It was probably a terrible idea, but, right now, any distraction was worth the risk, as was taking potions provided by semi-sentient rooms.</p>
<hr/><p>Hermione - November 16, 1996</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>Draco Malfoy, Hermione? Honestly!</em>
</p><p>How did she end up with <em>him</em> invading nearly all of her spare thoughts? Not to say that Hermione was <em>wholly distracted</em> by him. After all, with Ron's abandonment, she did have some unused mental bandwidth that Ron would have usually taken up, the great prat<em>.</em> But it was really the principle of the thing. Though she did have to congratulate herself a bit, Malfoy was an excellent distraction, just as she'd suspected.</p><p><em>He really is quite pretty. Beautiful even.</em> She laughed lightly at herself at the preposterous thought.</p><p>Arguing with Malfoy gave her an odd sense of satisfaction and, while she couldn't explain it, their encounters seemed to both rile her up and calm her down.</p><p>Hermione looked down into her cauldron. It had taken on just the right sheen. Her Draught of Peace would be done after a final simmer, thankfully. It wasn't exactly the most complicated potion to brew, especially not after all the trouble Draught of Living Death had given her. But it still required one to pay close attention, or rather than a Draught of Peace, you'd end up with something more along the lines of Pepper-up. Which now that she was thinking about it, that might be nice to brew up too.</p><p>
  <em>Something Malfoy could also do with a healthy dose of. Honestly, it's a wonder he's survived this long without it.</em>
</p><p>Conjuring up her list of supplies, Hermione considered what she had on hand and what she might need to procure more of. It was really quite fortunate that Professor Slughorn was so lax in his storeroom. She'd had no issues obtaining what she needed.</p><p>Wouldn't <em>Malfoy</em> be shocked to learn that about her? Hermione Granger, <em>stealing</em> from a teacher! It wasn't as though she was really doing that, though. Or even hiding it, for that matter, considering everything she'd taken was organized by classification on the floor. The ingredients were <em>meant</em> for student potions or Madam Pomfrey's medical needs. She was both a student and creating a potion for medical needs, and therefore it was justified.</p><p><em>Perhaps I should brew Draught of Sanity for myself, considering my current behavior</em>.</p><p>Deciding that she had everything necessary to brew both some mild Dreamless Sleep and the Pepper-up, Hermione set about getting two additional cauldrons prepared.</p><p>It was relaxing work. Something that she needed. Her brain was always busy, too busy at times, but it allowed her to find meaning in complexity, even when she didn't want to. Like how the tension that permeated the Slytherin table in the Great Hall could not be explained by house rivalries.</p><p><em>Draco Malfoy</em>.</p><p>His physical state had deteriorated, and had continued to decline, she realized now that she was seeing more of him. Regardless of his normal behavior, it was still a bit of a shame. There was no denying that he'd always been quite fit, something he was most certainly aware of, considering his reputation amongst the students. <em>Rumors, I'm sure. </em>As far as she was aware, the only witch he'd been attached to had been Pansy Parkinson. Considering what a handful <em>she</em> was, Hermione doubted he'd had time to seduce anyone else. But that was last year.</p><p>Something had changed. Draco barely ate. He never smiled or laughed, not even to bully the younger had taken to observing him in the Great Hall since they'd begun sharing Myrtle's space more frequently. For curiosity's sake <em>only</em>, of course. It wasn't as though she had any <em>other</em> interest in him. Not that she needed justification, but she could always fall back on Harry's theory, and a less biased observer could only help Harry.</p><p>From what she had observed, Malfoy was still the same rude, self-important prat she'd known since First Year, but she was starting to wonder if there was something more happening below the surface. He was clearly dealing with a lot of stress, hence the potions she was brewing. She figured they'd be handy to have for herself and Harry, but Draco seemed so lost—adrift. The air of snobbery and confidence seemed to have dwindled; was it odd that she almost missed it? She wondered where he was at that moment before shaking herself and scoffing.</p><p>"Why are you fretting over him of all people?" she scolded herself out loud. She was being utterly ridiculous.</p><p>"Heeerrmiooneee, whoooo are you talking tooo? Is it Draco!?" the ghost gasped.</p><p>
  <em>Myrtle. Lovely.</em>
</p><p>She sighed, not bothering to look up from her work. "And to think I'd been so pleased you were away."</p><p>"Just checking in on the Prefect's bathroom. Hufflepuff just finished quidditch practice," she crooned.</p><p>Hermione's eyes shot up to meet hers, as ghastly images of sweaty, smelly quidditch players began to fill her mind. She gagged in disgust at the thought. At least she'd only been around Viktor in his school uniform and dress robes. She wondered if Draco managed to remain poised after practice. Even during the Gryffindor versus Slytherin matches she'd seen, there was never a hair out of place on his head.</p><p>"You wanted to spy on Ernie Macmillan? That's vile."</p><p>Myrle grinned. "I don't spy. I monitor."</p><p>Her nose wrinkled at the confirmation. Those poor boys had no idea. "I'll bet." She shooed her away with a hand, turning back to her work. "Well, why don't you go check in on them again then."</p><p>"I beg your pardon! You should be nicer to me!" Myrtle whined. "I could tell the Headmaster about you and Draco using my bathroom."</p><p>Hermione rolled her eyes. "You could, but then <em>neither</em> of us would visit with you anymore."</p><p>Myrtle huffed. "Fine, Hermione. But I don't think anything would stop <em>my</em> Draco from visiting me." She floated around to the other side of the cauldron. "In fact, I was just comforting him yesterday. He's very sensitive, you know."</p><p>Instantly alert, Hermione stopped tidying up the completed Draught of Peace and fully focused on her. "Did he say what was wrong?"</p><p>Myrtle shook her head. "He never does."</p><p>Hermione shared a look of concern with Myrtle and wondered if there was anyone else who was looking out for Draco Malfoy.</p>
<hr/><p>Draco - November 17, 1996</p>
<hr/><p>Days like today, Draco ached for how much he missed quidditch. The sun was bright in a cloudless sky, and while it was cold—it was Scotland after all—being out in the chill air made him feel young again.</p><p>It was that nostalgia that brought him out to the pitch. He'd brought his broom with a mind just to fly a few drills and not think about dark lords, pesky Muggle-borns, or impossible tasks. And it had been going swimmingly, even if the bite of the cold air was chapping his lips. None of that mattered when he could fly faster than a hippogriff. For a blessed hour, he let himself get lost in it.</p><p>Unfortunately, his respite wasn't meant to last.</p><p>"Oi! Wanker, we've got the pitch reserved."</p><p>Tightening his grip on the broom with frustration, he shot himself up higher, away from the shouting git and the rest of the Gryffindor team. Leveling out when his ears started to hurt from the cold, he coasted around the outside of the pitch, rolling his eyes at the idiots as they continued to flail their arms around in the air in an attempt to get his attention. When their voices began to carry up into the air, he realized someone seemed to have cast a projection charm on their voices. Fuck, they were relentless.</p><p>Draco wished he could ignore them all, particularly the grating voice of Ronald Weasley. Wished he could send a hex toward the ginger, or maybe a fist. Preferably both.</p><p>
  <em>Granger would absolutely have kittens!</em>
</p><p>And since when did he concern himself with what Hermione Granger would think of his behavior. It was a dark day indeed. He knew one thing for certain, though, if he pissed her off, he'd never be rid of her, so attacking Weaselbee was sadly not on the agenda for that day.</p><p>Accepting the inevitable, Draco groaned loudly, muttering various curses under his breath as he drifted back down to the ground. He landed lightly on the balls of his feet, swinging his broom across his back, considering what else he could do to further infuriate Weasley. <em>Might as well have a bit of fun at his expense. </em>He might not be able to hex the twat, but he could push his buttons a little. An idea blooming, he smirked, brushed off his robes, and headed for the footpath back to the castle, whistling 'Weasley is our King' cheerfully to himself. As he strode past the first few Gryffindors, a few chuckled under their breath. Well, it was a catchy tune if he did say so himself.</p><p>Approaching Potter and Weasley, Draco noted that the two knobs were bickering. He slowed his pace, hoping to catch what they said.</p><p>Potter merely rolled his eyes and turned back to Weasley. "What do you mean you don't know? I specifically asked you to—"</p><p>Ron shrugged him off. "Better things to do, mate."</p><p>"You had better things to do than make sure that Hermione knew I would be meeting her later than planned? Brilliant, mate. That's just great," Harry said with a huff.</p><p>Draco followed the direction of the Weasel's head nod, high up in the stands was Lavender Brown, waving a Gryffy flag. With a snort, Draco turned back in time to make eye contact with Potter and to share an unexpected eye roll and head shake. Would wonders never cease? First holding back to not upset Granger and, now, sharing a sentiment with Potter. Clearly, Draco was becoming some kind of Hufflepuff.</p><p>"You do realize, don't you, that everyone knows you're only seeing Lavender out of spite toward Hermione for doubting you," Harry said, turning back to the git.</p><p>"Oh, and I suppose she's the one that's saying that? Bloody impossible, that one," he said, with a grimace.</p><p>"Careful, Ron," Harry warned. "Just because you're being thickheaded doesn't mean I'll allow you to—"</p><p>"Crickey, Harry. I'm just takin' the mick." Ron raised his hands in defense.</p><p>"Pretty sure you know <em>exactly</em> what you're doing, mate," Harry admonished.</p><p>Ron scoffed, shooting what he probably thought to be an intimidating glare at Draco as he approached them. He looked more like a bloated Kneazle. Still shaking his head, Draco shoulder-checked the idiot, chuckling when Weasley stumbled back into Potter. Satisfied with the result, he upped his pace to put more distance between himself and the Gryffindorks.</p><p>"What's your problem, Malfoy!?" Weaselbee's grating voice called out.</p><p>Draco didn't bother responding. His silence was sure to get under Weaselbee's skin more than anything he could say.</p><p>"I'm talking to you, you great prat."</p><p>He sighed and turned around to see Potter grabbing at Weasley's arm. "You think I care what a scummy little rat like you has to say? Better things to do,<em> mate</em>," he sneered, before continuing back towards the castle.</p><p>"I call bullshit. You can't fool me, Malfoy," Weasley taunted, still trying to shrug off Potter. "Bet you were down here spying. You planning to tell your house team about our practice? Think it'll win you a place back on the team?"</p><p>"Just let it go, mate. Malfoy's not worth it."</p><p>"Just look at him, Harry. Sneakin' about when no one is here. Who knows where he was before we saw him? Could'a come back from a nefarious meeting or somethin', tryin' to fill daddy's shoes."</p><p>That was far too close to the truth. Reaching for his wand, Granger and her kittens be damned, he spun on his heel intent to curse him into next week, when Potter stepped in front of him and turned the ginger around by the arm, giving him a light push back towards the pitch. Though he was oddly impressed—Potty wasn't one to back down when it came to their tiffs—he refused to let Weasley get away with his implications. <em>A Malfoy always had the last word</em>.</p><p>"And to think that Granger has put up with you all these years!" he called out. When they both whipped around, he shrugged, consummate nonchalance.</p><p>"Don't talk about Hermione, Malfoy," Potter said, a scowl settling on his face; he looked tired.</p><p>"And why shouldn't I?" he asked, warming up to the confrontation.</p><p>"Don't talk about her, don't think about her, don't even look at her!" Harry shouted.</p><p>"But the view has gotten quite nice, don't you think?" he asked, leering a bit. He knew it was a mistake, but he never could resist baiting the Chosen One. It <em>was</em> true after all, though he hadn't really thought about it until that moment.</p><p>Weasley grabbed Potter's arms, stopping him mid lunge. "Stay away from Hermione, Malfoy," Weasley said, his voice low, and Draco was sure that he thought himself quite intimidating.</p><p>Potter struggled in the Weasel's arms. "I know what you are!"</p><p>Draco started to step toward Potter but reined himself in and instead turned to continue his trek back to the castle. He called over his shoulder, "You have no idea what I am, Potter."</p><p>He could hear a bit more of a scuffle, and then Potter called out, "Stay away from Hermione, Malfoy."</p><p>Twirling on his heel Draco flexed his wrists, flipping them two fingers—<em>Up yours, arseholes</em>—then sauntered back towards the castle as they continued to shout profanities at his back. He began to consider when he might see Hermione again, and found he wasn't dreading it as much as he knew he should.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Chapter 3 Unexpected Alliances</strong>
</p><p>Draco – November 18, 1996</p>
<hr/><p>Fuck that cabinet.</p><p>He'd been thinking those words over and over since ditching potions to try to make some progress but to no avail. The damn thing was intractable. None of his attempts to untangle the finicky magic led to anything remotely productive. It was like he was missing some critical piece of knowledge.</p><p>
  <em>Like maybe the will to actually make it work?</em>
</p><p>Fuck that cabinet.</p><p>The halls of the castle were full of the whomps and hoots as the students celebrated the end of the school week; it made his mood sour even more.</p><p>Most of the younger years from other houses knew to make way for him as he stormed by, his reputation preceding him, naturally. At least until he rounded the corner and a pudgy little Ravenclaw boy walked right into him, knocking him into the wall.</p><p>"Hey! Watch it, you - oh! Uh..." the boy stammered; eyes wide when realization set in over who he was speaking to. "S-sorry, Malfoy...err...sir." His round face was bright red from his flustered state.</p><p>
  <em>And yet, the tool is still in my way.</em>
</p><p>Righting his vest and tie, Draco stepped right into his space and glared down at him. "Move," he seethed, voice low and dangerous. He had no energy to spare for any of this.</p><p>The boy scurried off with a squeak that may have been, "Yes, sir," though quite frankly Draco couldn't care less. He just wanted to get to his...<em>their</em> sanctuary and not think anymore.</p><p>"Oi!" He heard Pucey call out from somewhere behind him. "Looks like Malfoy's going soft! Not even a shove to the arm on that kid this time."</p><p>Draco rolled his eyes and continued to walk, not bothering to acknowledge him.</p><p>"I think he needs a little something to bring him back to life, eh," the arsehole continued. "What of it, Tracey? Wanna have a go with poor Drake? Think he could use a little <em>companionship.</em>"</p><p>"Fuck off, Adrian."</p><p>Their mocks and laughter dissipated as he made his way down the stairs and finally onto the right floor. It was practically empty on this level now; the near silence brought his thoughts back to that fucking vanishing cabinet. It was taunting him.</p><p>Adrian was a useless tit, but he wasn't too far off. Draco was in serious need of a pick me up, or maybe a blow job, not that either was forthcoming given the givens.</p><p>
  <em>And never with Tracey Davis.</em>
</p><p>He'd read a section in some book he'd knicked from Borgin and Burkes that insisted the best way to test a spell was to use it on something living. And there was no way in hell he was going to test it on himself. The Dark Lord already had his arm, and possibly his soul—he wasn't about to use himself to determine if the cabinet would work.</p><p>Knowing he had to give it a go at least once, for memory's sake and all, he decided to use a few of the apples left over from breakfast as his test subjects, until he could figure out an alternative solution.</p><p>
  <em>As if I could find a volunteer...</em>
</p><p>The idea was for a passage to be created between the two that wouldn't result in a splinch or death—<em>would the death of a few bloody Death Eaters really be so bad?—</em>but that would require the use of a silent vanishing charm. Something that was way, <em>way</em> over his head, as adept as he was in the subject. Of course, the first time he tried it, murmuring <em>Harmonia nectere passus</em>, when he opened the cabinet door, he found the stupid Apple was exactly where he'd left it, unmoved and unchanged.</p><p>It also didn't help that he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was following him. There was this buzz he started noticing recently. He couldn't say for sure when the first time was, but now almost every time he was out after hours, he noticed it. He'd taken to pausing in odd alcoves and looking to see if someone would pass by, but he'd yet to discover who or what it was.</p><p>Today the buzzing was absent, and it brought him no comfort as he stepped onto the second floor and made his way to Myrtle's abandoned loo. He pushed the door open, and his nostrils were insulted with an acrid tang. Once he got past the smell, he could feel Granger's magic pulsing in tingles along his arms and scalp.</p><p>"You again…" Draco said with a sigh as he rounded the corner of the lavatory.</p><p>There were three cauldrons this time, all brewing something different. He barely had time to concentrate on a single daunting task, and here Granger was splitting her focus on three different, and by the looks of it, complicated potions. Not for the first time, he wondered why she hadn't been sorted into Ravenclaw.</p><p>Granger glanced over her shoulder; she looked positively harried. "Yes, me again, I told you—"</p><p>"Can't you and your hair go be expansive somewhere else?" Draco groaned, gesturing extravagantly. He could swear the mane on her head had tripled in size since he'd seen it earlier in the day.</p><p>"Shall I reiterate?" she deadpanned.</p><p>He scoffed, exasperated by her tone. "For fucks sake, Granger, <em>no</em>, I cannot bear your reiteration." He waved an arm over her set up. "Just carry on, and allow me my wallow," he said, approaching the bank of sinks and braced against the nearest one. He'd never admit it out loud, but even as irritated as he was, the pulsing tingles and warmth of Granger's magic were soothing. Soothing enough that maybe her presence was worth it.</p><p>
  <em>Merlin's balls, man. Pull yourself together!</em>
</p><p>The entire notion of it—<em>sensin</em>g things—was quickly becoming a frustrating annoyance. He'd noted over breakfast earlier that there were no pulses or spikes at the Slytherin table, despite how many other students were there. No warmth, nor any of the other sensations he'd felt around Granger, or the buzzing he'd felt at night. At least, not until she'd walked in with the rest of the Gryffindors.</p><p>"Gladly, but do keep the tears to a minimum."</p><p>
  <em>What?</em>
</p><p>Draco jerked away from the sink, irritated that he'd considered her anything other than exasperating? Though truthfully, he'd appreciated the glimpse she'd given him of the soft angle of her jaw and length of her neck. He'd noticed the top two buttons of her uniform blouse were undone when he walked in.</p><p>"I <em>beg</em> your pardon! Malfoys <em>don't</em> cry," he stated, puffing his chest out and glaring at her. <em>How dare she imply otherwise!</em></p><p>Hermione shrugged. "According to Myrtle, they do." She crossed her arms and smirked, daring him to deny it. Which of course, he couldn't. <em>Bloody fucking ghost!</em></p><p>"I <em>always</em> look forward to our time together, Draco," Myrtle crooned, swooping up from her stall. "Especially when you're weeping. I keep the stall next to mine open just for yooou–"</p><p>Waving his wand above his head, he sent up a set of sparks that crested back down over them, lighting the room as they fell. He'd come here for some peace and he intended to have it. It was high time he put a stop to this nonsense.</p><p>"Oi! Right, that's it. Both of you, <em>do</em> fuck off!" The wail the ghost let out as she whooshed away was enough to make his head throb. Hermione, on the other hand, looked thoroughly unimpressed.</p><p>"Really, Malfoy? Do you honestly think you're intimidating?" She glared. "And mind your language!" She chastised him with a disapproving once-over. "To think that you consider yourself a part of the '<em>civilized elite'! </em>Your crudeness is very unbecoming, and seeing as I'm a Prefect—"</p><p>"I tremble in fear of your house points-taking abilities," Draco cut her off with a sneer and turned back to the sink. He could still see Granger in the mirror's reflection "Crazy bint…" he mumbled.</p><p>"Like I'd even bother!" she shouted, turning back to her cauldron.</p><p>"Oh no, had something more illicit in mind then, did you? Going to sic the She-Weasel on me? I'd wager you have that entire family wrapped around your finger," he snapped, turning back to face her once more. "Or some obscure hex you've read about in one of your precious books?"</p><p>Her jaw dropped open. "I would never!"</p><p>"Fine."</p><p>"Fine!" Her hair whipped behind her as she turned her back to him.</p><p>
  <em>Bloody Gryffindor.</em>
</p><p>Draco took the moment of quiet to turn on one of the sinks' taps and splash some cool water on his face. It offered a modicum of relief, but nothing could touch the level of self-loathing he was attaining that day. He'd just picked a fight with a witch for no other reason than she was present, and the worst part was he felt ridiculously guilty!</p><p>
  <em>Fuck this fucking day.</em>
</p><p>After a few minutes of just listening to the water run, he turned off the tap and slid down onto the floor, leaning back against the wall facing Granger as she continued to stir whatever disaster she was brewing. If it were even possible, her hair had gotten bigger since he looked at her last. Her back was still to him, but every so often he caught her glancing down and back, chewing on her bottom lip. She seemed at war with herself, until she mumbled incoherently and fully turned back around. A wave of warmth washed over Draco.</p><p>"But really, are you okay?" Hermione sighed, dropping her stirring rod onto the makeshift table she had set up just outside the stall.</p><p>Draco considered not answering, but another wave hit him, and he realized the pleasant warmth was again her magic interacting with his own. He felt himself soften if only a little. She seemed genuinely interested. "I'm fine, Granger, just—" <em>Hiding</em><em> out in here with you instead of plotting out your beloved Headmaster's murder. "—</em>stressed," he said, pushing his fringe out of his eyes.</p><p>"Oh, okay." She looked far from convinced, but didn't push.</p><p>It may have been the emotional exhaustion or that, for once, she actually seemed sincere in her query, but as he watched her fiddle nervously with her hands, he felt compelled to return in kind.</p><p>"How're your potions coming?" he asked and was rewarded with another dramatic sigh.</p><p>She looked at each of her cauldrons. "Those two are fine, this one...Horribly." She shook her head, causing her wild hair to dance around her face.</p><p>"I think you're overreacting to Potter's improved performance," he offered, pulling his knees up and dropping his head into them. He still didn't understand why she was so convinced that the twat was remotely better than her in anything.</p><p>"Really?" She frowned. "Well, I don't believe I am."</p><p><em>Of course, she doesn't.</em> Draco rolled his eyes. She may not have been able to see, but it would have taken a significant amount of energy to contain the urge, so he didn't.</p><p>"What are you brewing that has you in a tizzy?" he asked, still resting his head on his knees.</p><p>"A batch of Antidote for Common Poisons."</p><p>Draco couldn't help but laugh. "We learned that back in Third Year, or was it Fourth?"</p><p>"It was third, but there is a version of it in our N.E.W.T. text. The infernal Half-Blood Prince has heavily annotated it, and well, I was curious. But this color and texture are all wrong."</p><p>Draco sat up at that. "Half-Blood Prince?"</p><p>"Harry's copy of the text—" she added a few drops of essence of lavender, if Draco's nose was to be believed "—it's filled with annotations and spells."</p><p>Draco watched her insert her stirring rod and do three counterclockwise turns. Her eyes began to widen as she completed the step.</p><p>"Oh, oh! Malfoy, come look at this."</p><p>Draco pulled himself up off the floor and walked over to look in the cauldron. "Look at that. It smells different than I remember."</p><p>"Yes, I believe that'll be the honeywater, mint, and lavender." She pointed into the cauldron. "And look, there are gold swirls with the teal."</p><p>"Interesting," Draco took another inhale and used his wand to agitate the potion. "Stewed Mandrake?"</p><p>"Yes, how did you know?" she asked, eyeing him curiously.</p><p>"Well, the gold, obviously," Draco said, looking down his nose at Granger.</p><p>"What?" she frowned. "Stewed Mandrake doesn't add gold hues."</p><p>"Well, not normally, but Common Antidote has unicorn horn and mistletoe berries, which would react with the mandrake, give it that nice gold swirling effect. It's quite clever, really. Made this way, it would be able to revive the patient if they'd passed out." She'd been shaking her head as soon as he'd begun his explanation as if he couldn't possibly be right.</p><p>"But that's not the proper way to make the potion."</p><p>His eyes rolled, and he groaned at her words as well as the spikey assault of her magic that accompanied her irritation. "It's called improvisation, Granger. Surely, you experiment <em>some</em>. Look at what you're doing right now," he said, with a wave of his arms over her workspace.</p><p>"This was academic curiosity. I would never <em>administer</em> this to someone. It isn't an approved potion."</p><p>
  <em>Oh, Merlin, help me.</em>
</p><p>"Why on earth not? You know what all went into it." Draco wordlessly spun his wand over the potion again. "Look at the color and movement in the cauldron. This would be very effective."</p><p>"No, I do <em>not</em> know!" She bristled. "It's made up!"</p><p>The spikey feeling surged and the air filled with the heat of her aggravation. Draco looked up at her and shook his head. At least he could be disappointed in someone besides himself. "Come off it, surely at this point, you aren't just blindly following directions. You know what all this shit—"</p><p>"Language!"</p><p>"—does. Yeah, yeah, I'm a crude bastard. Get over it. Each element added has a purpose. Where do you think new potions come from?" Draco waved his wand, conjuring a set of vials, and began siphoning off the potion.</p><p>"Of course, I <em>know</em> that! But why would we have a recipe to follow—"</p><p>He aborted his progress, without the soothing waves of calm her magic usually evoked he found he was supremely pissed off now. It was one thing for Granger to be irritated with him, as her surging magic indicated, but of all people to be unable to follow the nuance of potion-making—he'd expected more from her. "If you don't know, I can't explain. Now kindly, fuck off!"</p><p>Her hands gripped her hips so tightly her knuckles were white with the effort. "I <em>should</em> take points. And we can't use that potion."</p><p>Draco sighed in irritation. "Please do. And you do what you want, but I'm keeping a few of these." He moved the last of the brilliant potion into a vial and directed the vials into a small box that sat on Granger's makeshift workbench. Once the vials settled, he ran his fingers through his hair, closing his eyes as he tugged at the limp strands. He'd already been tired when he'd arrived at the lavatory, but after dealing with the overwhelming verbal and magical presence that was Granger, he was just exhausted.</p><p>Granger's shoes clacked against the tile floor, moving closer to him. Her magic swirled all around him, and somehow it no longer felt like a storm invading his senses but warm and familiar. "I have something to show you," she said more softly.</p><p>Draco cracked open his eyes. "Is it the tally of how many points I've lost my house?"</p><p>"No, you prat! I'm trying to do something nice," she said, rubbing her arms briskly.</p><p>Draco took her in, the warmth of her magic continued to pulse around him, and he wondered if it was possible that she could feel his, and if so, what it felt like. Cold and uninviting, he assumed based on how she still seemed to be trying to rub warmth into her arms.</p><p>He followed her over to the last stall in the row. She opened the door and waved her hand at a series of labeled bottles and vials. "Not that you'd have any reason to know this or care, I suppose, but I have an interest in healing. I've brewed some Draught of Peace as well as some Dreamless Sleep and Pepper-Up."</p><p>Draco leaned in and inspected the potion's color, then turned to her and raised an eyebrow. "These all look perfect."</p><p>She huffed. "Just because the Draught of Living Death was a bear doesn't mean I'm not a good potioneer." Her eyes narrowed. "When brewed the <em>correct</em> way," she added. He rolled his eyes.</p><p>"My apologies, Granger," he said with a slight bow in her direction. "So why are you showing me these?"</p><p>"I thought that should be obvious."</p><p>"Is it?" He raised a brow.</p><p>She crossed her arms and glared at him. "I've brewed them for you."</p><p>Her magic spiked across his scalp. He was too tired to enjoy a riled-up Granger, but he was also confused. Rather than further antagonize her, he asked, "Why would you do that?"</p><p>"Really, Malfoy, I know we aren't friends, but we keep encountering each other, and you just seem so…" she trailed off, waving an arm in his direction, as if it was something she expected him to understand.</p><p>"So, what, Granger? Don't stop now. Put me in my place."</p><p>"Defeated, exhausted. We may not like each other, but no one should be so run down as you are. I don't expect you to share what's going on with you. Merlin knows you've got Harry hassling you enough." Her magic flowed around him, warm and inviting. "I'm here if you want to talk. And well, if you don't, at least I know you have access to these if you want them."</p><p>Draco felt himself relax, then faltered; it wasn't safe to trust. <em>Could've just made some myself</em>. "And you haven't poisoned them? Dosed them with Veritaserum so Potter can interrogate me?"</p><p>She rolled her eyes at his theatrics. "If you're that worried, you should have just made them yourself, instead of waiting for me to do it..."</p><p>"Too many other things going on, Granger," he said. It was the truth, though he knew if he'd spent less time watching her and actually focusing on the task, he would have had plenty of it.</p><p>Exasperated, she shook her head. "Whatever, Malfoy. Anyway, they're perfectly acceptable. They are all brewed exactly to specifications."</p><p>Draco snickered. "Of course, they are. Hermione Granger does not experiment with medical potions. Not even when they are being brewed for the son of a Death Eater."</p><p>He heard her sigh. "You don't know me, not really. But for me, the world isn't black and white. I've had to live in the grey so that Harry and Ron could keep their ideals more than once. So that grey you're living in, I get that." She turned away from him and walked back to the workbench. She picked up a scrap of parchment and began scribbling a few notes and then picked up one of the teal and gold vials and held it up to the diffuse light that shone through the stained-glass windows.</p><p>Draco watched her for a few moments, then turned back to the stock of potions. She'd done something nice for him. Not because she liked him or owed him, but because she wasn't the kind of person to tolerate suffering in others. Fucking Gryffindors. He reached out, took several of the vials, and slid them into his bag.</p><p>"I'll be revising in the library all weekend, Malfoy. You're welcome to join me. I'm also researching a focusing draught. I realize that <em>perhaps</em> I'm being too rigid in my approach to potions. I do realize that for our N.E.W.T.s, I'll need to demonstrate more than rote knowledge. I'd be interested in discussing some of the finer points of it with you if you're so inclined," she said, returning to her parchment to scribble a few more notes.</p><p>Draco nodded his head and then, realizing she wasn't looking at him, said, "Yeah, I might do. Be nice to talk potions with someone besides Theo."</p><p>"He'd be welcome too; he's quite good in charms."</p><p>Draco shifted his weight; she was willing to revise with snakes? She was right. He really didn't know Hermione Granger.</p><p>"Close your mouth, Draco, no need to be so shocked. I revise with Ravenclaws too. It's not like Harry and Ron are interested."</p><p>Draco snapped his mouth shut. "You mean Potty and the Weasel aren't stimulating." He chuckled to himself.</p><p>Hermione snorted and finally turned to him, a single brow arched dramatically. "Academically, no. Though they have other fine attri—" She paused and frowned.</p><p>"Attributes? I doubt that," he said, with a bit of a laugh. "Well, I'll give you Potter has some skill as a duelist, but you cannot tell me that Ronald Weasley is anything but a twat."</p><p>With a shake of her head, Hermione turned back to her potion notes. "Normally, he's not all bad, but lately…"</p><p>"I can make you a 'Weasley is our King' button if you'd like to show your support."</p><p>Draco felt his lips curl into a smile as the room filled with her tinkling laughter and that warmth that was her magic. He liked hearing her laugh; it made him feel lighter, less burdened. When did that happen?</p><p>"I just might take you up on that. Just might at that. Anyway, do invite Theo along. I have a couple of protection charms I'd like to run past him." She pointed her wand and directed the cauldron in which she'd brewed the antidote to the sinks and pulled down a clean cauldron.</p><p>"Sure, Granger, I'll do that. I'll see you around."</p><p>"Yes, you will. We have rounds together, remember. Maybe you could be on time? Save me the agony of conversing with Macmillan?"</p><p>"Oh, right. Okay, I'll see you then. Um...and thank you," Draco said, patting his bag, "for the potions."</p><p>"Mmmhmm, you're welcome. And I do wish you would just vanish that antidote, or at least promise not to use any of it until I get the chance to discuss it with Madam Pomfrey."</p><p>"Sure, Granger." Draco stared at her a moment longer as her focus shifted fully to the new cauldron and her notes. He was beginning to think that nothing in the world was quite what he thought.</p>
<hr/><p>Draco – November 19, 1996</p>
<hr/><p>The next day found Draco annoyed, having tossed and turned all night. Granger was getting under his skin. First, her comment about his ignorance, followed by her admission that she might be ignorant too. It was too much, and that was before her surprising actions. She had made him potions, recognized that he was hurting, and did something to help. He couldn't remember the last time someone who wasn't his mother had done or seen so much.</p><p>No, Draco found that he couldn't just push aside what was happening between them any longer. He was ready to confront the fact that Hermione Granger was not at all what he'd thought and that maybe, just maybe, sharing Moaning Myrtle's loo with her wasn't so terrible. Maybe, revising with the school's ultimate bookworm would give him a chance to recover his grades, something else he desperately needed to do. It wouldn't be one-sided either. He had a lot to offer her, she needed to find her footing with potions, or she'd never reach her full potential.</p><p>
  <em>Don't forget how sensing her magic makes you feel… how she makes you feel.</em>
</p><p>Irritated, irrational, calm, unburdened. Draco shivered at the memory of her magic enveloping him as she showed him the potions she'd brewed for him. It wouldn't do. He did his best to banish those unhelpful thoughts. He didn't have time to deal with the implications of how her magic impacted him. He had other matters to attend to.</p><p>However, he did know that he could not allow her to be right when it came to his lack of knowledge about the world outside of the Wizarding community and decided a bit of research was in order.</p><p>Draco strode into the Slytherin common room and looked for the only person he felt comfortable questioning about Muggles. Sitting in a club chair, isolated from the rest of the room, sat Blaise Zabini, flipping through a copy of the evening edition of the <em>Daily Prophet.</em> Draco continued in that direction and settled into the chair opposite Blaise.</p><p>"Blaise, what do you know about Muggle healers?"</p><p>Blaise lowered the paper, folded it back into a tidy square, and then turned his attention to Draco, his head tilted and eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Doctors, as they're called, do much the same things that our healers do, just with technology and pharmaceuticals."</p><p>"Farma-suit-cuticles?"</p><p>Blaise snickered. "The great Draco Malfoy admits he doesn't know something. I have to say Draco, I'm astonished. Flabbergasted even."</p><p>"Do shut it, Blaise. There are plenty of things I don't know. Like your mother's preference in wedding vendors, do you get a return discount?"</p><p>"Well, that's hardly going to make me want to continue this conversation." Blaise reached out for the newspaper.</p><p>Draco took a deep breath and resettled his mask. "My apologies, habit. Would you be so kind as to continue to indulge my curiosity?"</p><p>Blaise dropped the paper back onto the end table. "That's more like it. You'll be Minister of Magic in no time."</p><p>Draco felt his mask slip for a moment. That was a future his family might have wanted once, but today all he could really hope was to live through the year. He pulled it back together and hoped Blaise didn't notice. "I believe you were going to explain what a farm-a-suit...um…"</p><p>"Pharmaceuticals. Yes, think Muggle potions. They use science, chemistry, most specifically. Quite ingenious, really. Would you believe they can treat practically all the same ailments as our healers? In fact, some of their drugs, a shorthand for pharmaceuticals, mind you, have fewer side effects than ours."</p><p>Draco's head felt like it was spinning, so many unfamiliar words. He'd have to spend some time looking these things up. Maybe he'd even ask Granger about some of it; she seemed to have kept up with Muggle things. Wanting to get back to figuring out the kind of people Granger's parents were, he asked, "And how does one become a... doctor, right?"</p><p>"Yes, doctor. They spend a great deal of time in school. The training programs are very competitive. Most don't get in."</p><p>"Is it quite lucrative?"</p><p>Blaise shook his head with a smile. "Only <em>you</em> would ask that question."</p><p>He threw his foot out, kicking at Blaise's legs. "Oh, fuck off. It's a valid question! Asked by me, or not."</p><p>"Well then, <em>yes</em>," he said, pausing for a moment in contemplation before refocusing on Draco. "But more than that, the training itself is expensive, prohibitively so in some cases. Typically, doctors are from families with money, or they incur debt to pursue the field."</p><p>"Huh."</p><p>Blaise chuckled. "Muggle medicine has come quite far since the days of kings, mate. They really aren't as barbaric in their ways as we've been led to believe."</p><p>Draco scoffed and tried not to fidget under the scrutinizing gaze he could feel burning into him.</p><p>"What's with the questions?" Blaise asked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "I've never heard you ask about Muggles."</p><p>Draco should have known better than to try and play coy with Blaise. It was well known that Zabini had the ability to read people's intentions almost immediately. There would be little chance he'd finish this conversation without his friend having caught onto his reasons for initiating it. There was really no point in trying to hide them.</p><p>"I was informed that I'm <em>ignorant</em>," he stated, running a finger across his brow.</p><p>Blaise roared in laughter. "Who would dare call the Malfoy Scion ignorant!?"</p><p>Burrowing himself further into the chair, he grumbled. "No one."</p><p>Blaise leaned back in the club chair, folding one leg over the other with a deliberate casualness Draco recognized. It was a useful tactic when one wanted to buy himself time to think. Next, Blaise placed his elbow on the armrest then rested his chin on his hand as he turned to Draco. "Only person I can think of is Granger." Draco's hackles rose at the mention of her name, expected though it was.</p><p>"What do you know about Granger?" he couldn't help but growl, his grip tightening on the chair.</p><p>"She's brilliant, obviously," Blaise said with a flourish. "Daughter of <em>Muggle healers</em>, is considering healing as a career, likes to read classic Muggle romance." Blaise shrugged as though that weren't far too much to know about someone wholly unconnected to them.</p><p>It irked him that Zabini seemed to know more about the witch than he did. He'd never seen Blaise spare her a passing glance! "What the fuck, Blaise? How do you know all that about her?"</p><p>"How does anyone know anything about anyone?" He gave him a sly smile. "I collect observations, as you know. In this case, most are quite obvious. She's top of our class, and sure, she's a know-it-all, but she does seem to actually know <em>it all</em>." He began to inspect his nails as he continued. "She spends time with Pomfrey, only one reason to do that. And, I too, happen to be a fan of Pride and Prejudice."</p><p>Draco was utterly gobsmacked. "Fuck."</p><p>"So, why does Granger have you questioning me about Muggles?" Blaise asked with an air of nonchalance.</p><p>"Something she said, things she's done…" He trailed off; he'd already said too much.</p><p>"Drake, I know your father…"</p><p>Draco shook his head. "Fuck him too. I just, maybe you could suggest some reading on the subject?"</p><p>"Sure. I can answer your questions too. Not as well as Granger, of course, but you know Italy's wizarding world isn't nearly so...restrictive."</p><p>Draco nodded.</p><p>Blaise leaned forward and lowered his voice. "You know I don't buy into <em>those </em>views, yes? If you find you have more questions, I promise to be discreet."</p><p>"I... I, well, you understand my position." He'd <em>definitely</em> said too much.</p><p>"Too well, unfortunately. Remember you have friends, Draco," Blaise said, glancing around. "There are more of us than you think."</p><p>A loud bang came from the entry portal, followed by Crabbe and Goyle stumbling into the room, an almost sour feeling brushing against Draco in their wake.</p><p>Blaise stood abruptly and patted Draco on the shoulder. "You'll find some enlightening books in the library. A touch out of date, but a good start. I'll be seeing you."</p><p>"Yes, see you," Draco said, struggling to stay calm.</p><p><em>More of us than you think</em>.</p><p>That was not safe knowledge to be sharing, especially with him. His mind reeled, had others noticed he was a less than willing servant. Because that would be very bad.</p><p>Mask of indifference as firmly in place as possible, Draco stood and called out, "Crabbe, Goyle, I require your assistance."</p><p>If there was even a chance that associating with Zabini could make anyone question his loyalty to the Dark Lord, he had to put it to bed immediately. And what better way to do that than by being seen heading off to work on his assignment.</p><p>He really was starting to hate this life.</p>
<hr/><p>Draco – November 21, 1996</p>
<hr/><p>Three days later, Draco was lost in his own thoughts as he climbed the stairs to the Prefect's meeting room that evening. He'd forgotten to note the partner schedule for the week, so he was pleasantly surprised when he found Granger seated in one of the chairs, nose deep in '<em>Advanced Potion Making.'</em> He couldn't help the quirk of his lips at the sight of her. Her hair was frizzier than usual; he found it unexpectedly endearing.</p><p>After speaking with Blaise about Muggles, he'd come to the realization that Hermione may have had a point when it came to his ignorance outside the Wizarding world. He'd found a used copy of '<em>My Life as a Muggle'</em> by one Daisy Hookum; he'd discovered it was on the assigned reading list for Muggle Studies. Not one to be left behind in knowledge, he'd spent the last few days reading about the life of the woman who gave up Magic for a year.</p><p>
  <em>Researching bloody Muggles. Will wonders never cease?</em>
</p><p>He hadn't seen her since their last rendezvous in their lavatory sanctuary and found he was eager to speak with her about what he'd read.</p><p>"You really shouldn't doubt yourself when it comes to the spectacled git, Granger. I can assure you; you've mastered how to properly brew Draught of Living Death." It registered after it left his lips; he'd just freely given Hermione Granger a compliment. What in Circe's name was happening?</p><p>The small smile she gave him when she looked up caused his stomach to flutter, his breathing slowing to a halt as she put her book away and approached him. Her smile didn't drop as she advanced, and he struggled to stop from squirming at the eye contact.</p><p>"Exhausting thought, and having wisdom with each studious year," she quoted, coming to a stop in front of him. He noticed that he enjoyed observing her from this angle, the top of her head aligned with his nose; she had to tilt her head slightly back to meet his eyes. So close in his space, he could feel a sense of intimacy surrounding them—the magic emanating off of her soothing his near-constant anxiety.</p><p>
  <em>I'd hardly have to bend down to reach her lips…</em>
</p><p>He quashed that train of thought immediately, frowning while taking a step back and attempting to refocus on the nonsense she'd just said.</p><p>"Come again, Granger? Are you speaking in tongues or was that an actual phrase?" he quipped. He really wished the fluttering in his stomach would calm the fuck down.</p><p>She snorted, brushing his words aside with a quick wave of her hand. "Don't be ridiculous, Draco. It's a quote by Lord Byron. Do you know who that is?" He shook his head 'no' as they made their way out of the classroom to begin their patrol.</p><p>She shrugged. "I'm not surprised. He was a Muggle poet, after all. I don't expect his works would be found in the Malfoy library, considering."</p><p>He was pleased to find the lack of her usual condescending tone. Perhaps she'd actually been sincere in her apology about his ignorance.</p><p>
  <em>All the more reason to show her I'm not.</em>
</p><p>He was quite sure it was becoming important to him that she see him as more than just an arrogant prat.</p><p>"I'll have you know, Granger, that the Malfoy library is one of only two libraries in Britain to hold every book written about Morgana, Merlin, and the Lady of the Lake, <em>Muggle</em> works included."</p><p>Her wide eyes, full of shock, warmed him. It felt exhilarating, being able to tell her something she didn't know. Especially something about himself. <em>Who's ignorant now?</em> His smile widened as she tried to regain her composure.</p><p>"That's...quite unexpected, Draco. I didn't know," she said. He took unexpected pleasure at hearing his given name from her. But his joy began to deflate as he saw her pull into herself. He hadn't meant to upset her, but it was the only logical explanation to why her magic dulled and seemed to diminish. This just wouldn't do; he craved the peace her magic brought him, and he found he didn't want to be responsible for dimming her light.</p><p>"All right then, Granger. If Muggles are meant to be so ingenious, why have they not discovered a way to make their photographs move? How unimaginably <em>boring</em>, staring at a picture that you can't interact with!"</p><p>Her face lit up with a bright smile. Draco wondered how often she looked like that: happy, excited. The fluttering moved up into his chest, securing itself around his heart like a vice. He inhaled a stuttering breath as her warmth surrounded them again. He pondered, not for the first time, if she could feel his magic and if it felt the same.</p><p>"Muggles rely on their memory to recreate the moments in pictures," she explained, her swottiness coming out. Draco stifled a laugh. <em>There she is.</em></p><p>"For example, there is a picture on our mantle at home of myself and my parents outside the Royal Albert Hall from when I was seven. We'd gone to see Swan Lake at Christmastime that year." They stopped often, peeking into the classrooms one by one as they made their way back to the staircases. "Even though it's just the three of us in the photo, I can still hear the cars from the busy street, taste the hot chocolate on my tongue, and feel the nip in the air. I don't need to speak to the picture to remember what happened."</p><p>They inadvertently bumped shoulders as they both tried to turn the corner. Draco's heart leapt into his throat at the contact. <em>Compose yourself, Malfoy! Bloody idiot.</em></p><p>"Besides, it isn't as though we can't create moving pictures. We can and have done for quite some time. They're called <em>motion</em> pictures. There is even a way to create them at home, with something called a video recorder." Draco rolled his eyes. Leave it to her to have an answer to show him up.</p><p>"So, you see, as much as I love magic and all that it gives us, we Muggles aren't as incapable as many think. We've done all right for ourselves all these years if I do say so myself." She nodded confidently.</p><p>He sniffed, unable to entirely disagree. Though his father had instilled in him the idea that Muggles were nothing but barbaric Neanderthals, unable to do anything but kill and destroy that which they feared, he couldn't help but concede to Hermione's point. If she was any example, perhaps they weren't as horrible as the rest of Wizarding society thought. Though he did catch on to how she'd included herself as one of them, which was a bit odd.</p><p>"Granger, you said 'we Muggles.' Do you consider yourself a Muggle or a witch? Or both?" He glanced at her briefly as they trudged along. He noticed her curls bounced against her back while they walked, the torches on the walls illuminating her natural highlights. He wondered if they were soft to the touch.</p><p>"Hmmm...I suppose both. I feel as though I'm a walking dichotomy. I'm both and neither fully," she concluded with a nod before her brows creased slightly. She abruptly stopped. "I'm not making much sense, am I?"</p><p>Stumbling at her unexpected stop, Draco bumped against a pillar. He ran a hand through his hair and glanced down at the mess of old plaster that had fallen onto him. "A not infrequent issue," he grumbled under his breath, brushing the dust and plaster off of his robes.</p><p>They stood there for a moment in silence before Hermione shrugged and walked away. Circling back to their previous conversation, Draco cleared his throat when he caught up to her, matching her stride.</p><p>"As much as it pains me to admit it, I suppose memory can be quite powerful on its own." He glanced down at her. "And I suppose if you're, what is it they call you? 'The brightest witch of her age'? Those Muggles that raised you mustn't be completely inept." He watched as a light blush appeared on her cheeks. That may have been a bit too much. "But Wizards have always been and will continue to be far superior. In all things."</p><p>She tucked her hair behind her ear as she shook her head, turning away from him. Not quickly enough, though, as he caught her fighting off a smile. "Whatever you say, Malfoy."</p><p>He was back to being Malfoy, but all the same, he felt as though they'd broken through another barrier. It was an astonishingly good feeling.</p><p>They continued on their route, alternating between chatting and bickering as they went. As they climbed the stairs to the astronomy tower, Draco felt a sense of contentment walking beside her. It was akin to when he was meandering around with Theo or Blaise. No pressure, just companionable silence on and off as they went.</p><p>"I can't believe you don't enjoy flying, Granger. It's like a Pygmy Puff not enjoying causing mischief! Brooms are to Wizards as—"</p><p>"I don't know <em>how</em>, all right?" she snapped. "It frightens me! There is absolutely no stability when sitting on one, and...it doesn't…" She trailed off.</p><p>"Doesn't what?"</p><p>She huffed. "It doesn't listen to my commands! It's the only class I've ever not passed in my entire time here at Hogwarts. <em>And</em>," she stressed, her voice raising an octave. "It's <em>completely </em>ludicrous that they even <em>count</em> it as one, to begin with! It shouldn't be required. There are perfectly good alternatives—"</p><p>He reached out and grasped her hand, giving it a solid squeeze. He had no idea what possessed him to do it, but it felt right. She didn't flinch.</p><p>"Pecker up, Granger," he soothed. She was practically in tears, and for once, Draco longed to not be the reason for them. He slowed them to a stop at the top of the staircase, still holding on to her hand. One more floor, and they'd be done. "Try not being such a swot all the time, and perhaps I'll be inclined to teach you myself one day," he said, their eyes locked. Her magic rippled around him; it felt like sparks were bouncing off of them as her eyes searched his. He knew he was getting in way over his head with her now.</p><p>A loud round of coughing broke the moment, and he quickly dropped her hand to seek out the culprit. Hermione led the way, finding Crabbe, Goyle, and Adrian Pucey gagging on their tobacco pipes.</p><p>"Excuse me! Just what do you think you're doing, smoking on school grounds?' Hermione snapped at them. "Twenty points from Slytherin for the three of you!"</p><p>The idiots, not having noticed Draco behind her, ran their eyes over her, their faces twisted into vulgar expressions. Pucey going as far as licking his lips. "How's about you put tha' mouth o'yours to better use, Sweetheart," he leered, earning him a laugh from Crabbe and Goyle. The gasp that came from Granger made Draco's blood boil. How dare they think he'd allow anyone, let alone a fellow Pureblood, to speak to a girl that way. Gryffindor or not, it was unacceptable.</p><p>"You lot are an embarrassment to the house of Slytherin, speaking to a girl like that," he seethed, stepping out of the shadowed corner behind Granger.</p><p>They seemed to startle at his presence briefly, then continued, "Oi, come off it, Draco! She's only just a cheeky Mudblood. Not like she'll ever be anything more than a placeholder. You 'ear that, Mudblood? Not even worth keepin' around—"</p><p>"Finish that sentence, Pucey, and I'll hex your lips shut," he growled. "Didn't your mothers teach you anything in between their rounds of Gleek? Bunch of trolls, the lot of you!" He relished in the look of horror on their faces. Everyone knew not to get on his bad side. "And smoking? You know well enough that it's a <em>privilege</em> to hold a pipe like that in our circle! Ten points more from all of you! Now get back to your dorms before I report you to your fathers for being such disgraceful fools!"</p><p>The three Slytherins scurried away, mumbling their apologies to him as they passed. Draco was so focused on watching them leave, he almost missed the bemused look Hermione was giving him.</p><p>"What?" he asked, smoothing down his robes before resuming their patrol. Granger followed swiftly. "They were out of line back there. I couldn't very well let that stand, could I?" She hummed in agreement, seemingly content with continuing on in silence.</p><p>It wasn't until they'd arrived that Draco realized he'd escorted her to the Gryffindor common room entrance. Glancing around, he waited for her to say something, unsure how to end the night.</p><p>Thankfully, she took the lead and sighed. "Well, I suppose this is it then," she said, twisting her hands together. Draco raised his eyebrows in agreement. Chancing a glance at her face, he saw her studying him quizzically.</p><p>"Right then, 'night, Granger," he said. It felt off, just leaving it like that. Their relationship had changed, shifted that night, but wasn't at equilibrium yet, and left him not knowing quite how to act.</p><p>"You know, you may come off as an arrogant ass to most, Draco, but…" she paused, giving him a quick once over before turning towards the portrait. "You're not as bad as you seem."</p><p>He wasn't sure how to respond to that, so he stood there watching as she walked through the portal. She turned back around then, giving him a small wave before the portal closed.</p><p>Draco walked around the corner, out of sight of the portrait Granger had just disappeared behind. He took several deep breaths to slow his speeding heart and allowed himself to lean against the cool stone wall. Once he felt like himself again, he turned to head for the stairs, the Room of Hidden Things his destination.</p><p>He'd barely made it to the stairs when he felt it again, that buzzing. He looked around and thought maybe off in the distance, he could see the silvery trails of a ghost. Perhaps that was the origin of the buzzing he'd felt several times now. There were plenty of ghosts haunting the corridors of the castle. It would at least explain why he had yet to see the source. It wasn't as if the ghosts took typical paths through the castle. He shook off the feeling and let his thoughts drift back to making Hermione Granger smile, the image continuously swirling through his head and conjuring a smile of his own.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A/N: Huge thanks once again to our tremendous Beta Irma66. And we are just overwhelmed (and overjoyed) by all of the comments, follows, favorites, and kudos. Thank you so much to all of you reading our story :) We can't wait to share more with you, except for our next post, which will be just a little bit delayed because we are doing the April NaNoWriMo! We currently have 125k words of this story written and are both aiming to write 50k more each this month. Wish us luck! Or better yet, come find us on Nano: KMD0107 &amp; therealMKT we'd love to be your buddies! While we're doing Nano, we'll still be posting Six Sentence Sunday teasers on Tumblr you can find us there as KMD0107 &amp; the-og-mkt, we'd love to be friends over there too. We both post Dramione, Reylo, and occasionally LoVe.</p>
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